Classic Tales and Old-Fashioned Stories / Various

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Title: Young Folks Treasury, Volume 3 (of 12)
       Classic Tales And Old-Fashioned Stories


Author: Various

Editor: Hamilton Wright Mabie

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YOUNG FOLKS' TREASURY

In 12 Volumes

HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, Editor

EDWARD EVERETT HALE, Associate Editor

VOLUME III: CLASSIC TALES AND OLD-FASHIONED STORIES

HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE, Editor

DANIEL EDWIN WHEELER, Assistant Editor

New York
The University Society Inc.
Publishers

1909







PARTIAL LIST OF EDITORS AND CONTRIBUTORS


HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE
Editor

EDWARD EVERETT HALE
Associate Editor

DANIEL EDWIN WHEELER
Managing Editor


Partial List of Contributors, Assistant Editors and Advisers:


NICHOLAS MURRAY BUTLER, President Columbia University.

WILLIAM R. HARPER, Late President Chicago University.

Hon. THEODORE ROOSEVELT, Ex-President of the United States.

Hon. GROVER CLEVELAND, Late President of the United States.

JAMES CARDINAL GIBBONS, American Roman Catholic prelate.

LAWRENCE J. BURPEE, Librarian Ottawa Public Library; author of
"Canadian Life in Town and Country," etc.

BLISS CARMAN, poet, essayist, and editor.

THOMAS B. FLINT, Clerk House of Commons, Canada; editor "Parliamentary
Practice and Procedure."

AGNES C. LAUT, author "Lords of the North," "Hudson's Bay Company,"
etc.

BECKLES WILLSON, author of "The Romance of Canada," "Life and Letters
of James Wolfe," etc.

EDWARD W. BOK, editor "Ladies' Home Journal."

HENRY VAN DYKE, author, poet, and Professor of English Literature,
Princeton University.

LYMAN ABBOTT, author, editor of "The Outlook."

JACOB A. RIIS, author and journalist.

EDWARD EVERETT HALE, JR., Professor at Union College.

CHARLES G.D. ROBERTS, writer of animal stories.

JANET H. KELMAN, author "Stories from the Crusades," "A Book of
Butterflies," etc.

VAUTIER GOLDING, author "Life of Henry M. Stanley," etc.

LENA DALKEITH, author "A Book of Beasts," "Stories from French
History," etc.

H.E. MARSHALL, author "A Child's History of England." "History of
English Literature," etc.

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, creator of "Uncle Remus."

GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON, novelist and journalist.

WILLIAM BLAIKIE, author of "How to Get Strong and How to Stay So."

JOSEPH JACOBS, folklore writer and editor of the "Jewish
Encyclopedia."

Mrs. VIRGINIA TERHUNE ("Marlon Harland"), author of "Common Sense in
the Household," etc.

A.D. INNES, author "England Under the Tudors," "England's Industrial
Development," etc.

EDMUND F. SELLAR, author "Life of Nelson," etc.

MARY MACGREGOR, author "King Arthur's Knights," etc.

JEANIE LANG, author "Life of General Gordon," etc.

Rev. THEODORE WOOD, F.E.S., writer on natural history.

MARGARET E. SANGSTER, author of "The Art of Home-Making," etc.

HERBERT T. WADE, editor and writer on physics.

JOHN H. CLIFFORD, editor and writer.

ERNEST INGERSOLL, naturalist and author.

IDA PRENTICE WHITCOMB, author of "Young People's Story of Music,"
"Heroes of History," etc.

MARK HAMBOURG, pianist and composer.

Mme. BLANCHE MARCHESI, opera singer and teacher.

ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS, author "Historic Boys," etc.

PAULINE C. BOUVE, author "Stories of American Heroes for Boys and
Girls," etc.




CONTENTS


Introduction


CLASSIC TALES


Don Quixote

By Miguel Cervantes. Adapted by John Lang

     I. HOW DON QUIXOTE WAS KNIGHTED

    II. HOW DON QUIXOTE RESCUED ANDRES; AND HOW HE RETURNED HOME

   III. HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA STARTED ON THEIR SEARCH FOR
        ADVENTURES; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE FOUGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS

    IV. HOW DON QUIXOTE WON A HELMET; HOW HE FOUGHT WITH TWO ARMIES; AND
        HOW SANCHO'S ASS WAS STOLEN

     V. HOW DON QUIXOTE SAW DULCINEA

    VI. HOW DON QUIXOTE FOUGHT WITH A LION; AND HOW HE DEFEATED THE MOORS

   VII. THE BATTLE WITH THE BULLS; THE FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE
        MOON; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE DIED


Gulliver's Travels: Voyage to Lilliput

By Jonathan Swift. Adapted by John Lang

     I. GULLIVER'S BIRTH AND EARLY VOYAGES

    II. GULLIVER IS WRECKED ON THE COAST OF LILLIPUT

   III. GULLIVER IS TAKEN AS A PRISONER TO THE CAPITAL OF LILLIPUT

    IV. GULLIVER IS FREED, AND CAPTURES THE BLEFUSCAN FLEET

     V. GULLIVER'S ESCAPE FROM LILLIPUT AND RETURN TO ENGLAND


The Arabian Nights

Adapted by Amy Steedman

     I. ALADDIN AND THE WONDERFUL LAMP

    II. THE ENCHANTED HORSE

   III. SINDBAD THE SAILOR


The Iliad of Homer

Adapted by Jeanie Lang

     I. THE STORY Of WHAT LED TO THE SIEGE OF TROY

    II. THE COUNCIL

   III. THE FIGHT BETWEEN PARIS AND MENELAUS

    IV. HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE

     V. HOW PATROCLUS FOUGHT AND DIED

    VI. THE ROUSING OF ACHILLES


The Odyssey of Homer

Adapted by Jeanie Lang

     I. WHAT HAPPENED IN ITHACA WHILE ODYSSEUS WAS AWAY

    II. HOW ODYSSEUS CAME HOME


Robinson Crusoe

By Daniel Defoe. Adapted by John Lang

     I. HOW ROBINSON FIRST WENT TO SEA; AND HOW HE WAS SHIPWRECKED

    II. ROBINSON WORKS HARD AT MAKING HIMSELF A HOME

   III. THE EARTHQUAKE AND HURRICANE; AND HOW ROBINSON BUILT A BOAT

    IV. ROBINSON BUILDS A SECOND BOAT, IN WHICH HE IS SWEPT OUT TO SEA

     V. ROBINSON SEES A FOOTPRINT ON THE SAND, FINDS A CAVE, AND RESCUES
        FRIDAY

    VI. ROBINSON TRAINS FRIDAY AND THEY BUILD A LARGE BOAT; THEY RESCUE
        TWO PRISONERS FROM THE CANNIBALS

   VII. ARRIVAL OF AN ENGLISH SHIP: ROBINSON SAILS FOR HOME


Canterbury Tales

By Geoffrey Chaucer. Adapted by Janet Harvey Kelman

     I. DORIGEN

    II. EMELIA

   III. GRISELDA


The Pilgrim's Progress

By John Bunyan. Adapted by Mary Macgregor


Tales from Shakespeare

By Charles and Mary Lamb

     I. THE TEMPEST

    II. A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM


OLD-FASHIONED STORIES


Simple Susan

By Maria Edgeworth. Adapted by Louey Chisholm

     I. QUEEN OF THE MAY

    II. BAD NEWS

   III. SUSAN'S GUINEA-FOWL

    IV. SUSAN VISITS THE ABBEY

     V. SUSAN'S PET LAMB

    VI. THE BLIND HARPER

   VII. GOOD NEWS

  VIII. BARBARA VISITS THE ABBEY

    IX. A SURPRISE FOR SUSAN

     X. BARBARA'S ACCIDENT

    XI. THE PRIZE-GIVING

   XII. ATTORNEY CASE IN TROUBLE

  XIII. SUSAN'S BIRTHDAY


Limby Lumpy


The Sore Tongue

By Jane Taylor


Eyes and No Eyes, or The Art of Seeing

By John Aikin and Mrs. Barbauld


Prince Life

By G.P.R. James


The Fruits of Disobedience, or The Kidnapped Child


Dicky Random, or Good Nature Is Nothing Without Good Conduct


Embellishment

By Jacob Abbott


The Oyster Patties


Two Little Boys

By Thomas Day

     I. THE GOOD-NATURED LITTLE BOY

    II. THE ILL-NATURED LITTLE BOY


The Purple Jar

By Maria Edgeworth


The Three Cakes

By Armand Berquin


Amendment


Trial

By John Aikin and Mrs. Barbauld


A Plot of Gunpowder: An Old Lady Seized for a Guy

Ascribed to William Martin ("Peter Parley")


Uncle David's Nonsensical Story About Giants and Fairies

By Katherine Sinclair


The Inquisitive Girl


Busy Idleness

By Jane Taylor


The Renowned History of Little Goody Two-Shoes

Ascribed to Oliver Goldsmith

INTRODUCTION

     I. HOW AND ABOUT LITTLE MARGERY AND HER BROTHER

    II. HOW AND ABOUT MR. SMITH

   III. HOW LITTLE MARGERY OBTAINED THE NAME OF GOODY TWO-SHOES, AND
        WHAT HAPPENED IN THE PARISH

    IV. HOW LITTLE MARGERY LEARNED TO READ, AND BY DEGREES TAUGHT OTHERS

     V. HOW LITTLE TWO-SHOES BECAME A TROTTING TUTORESS, AND HOW SHE
        TAUGHT HER YOUNG PUPILS

    VI. HOW THE WHOLE PARISH WAS FRIGHTENED

   VII. CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF ALL THE SPIRITS OR THINGS SHE SAW IN THE
        CHURCH

  VIII. OF SOMETHING WHICH HAPPENED TO LITTLE MARGERY TWO-SHOES IN A
        BARN, MORE DREADFUL THAN THE GHOST IN THE CHURCH; AND HOW SHE
        RETURNED GOOD FOR EVIL TO HER ENEMY, SIR TIMOTHY

    IX. HOW LITTLE MARGERY WAS MADE PRINCIPAL OF A COUNTRY COLLEGE


(Part Two.) The Renowned History of Mrs. Margery Two-Shoes

     I. OF HER SCHOOL, HER USHERS, OR ASSISTANTS, AND HER MANNER OF
        TEACHING

    II. A SCENE OF DISTRESS IN A SCHOOL

   III. OF THE AMAZING SAGACITY AND INSTINCT OF A LITTLE DOG

    IV. WHAT HAPPENED AT FARMER GROVE'S, AND HOW SHE GRATIFIED HIM FOR
        THE USE OF HIS ROOM

     V. THE CASE OF MRS. MARGERY

    VI. THE TRUE USE OF RICHES




ILLUSTRATIONS


VOLUME III


THE HORSE FLEW THROUGH THE AIR

"PAY AT ONCE, YOU SCOUNDREL"

HORSE AND MAN WERE SENT ROLLING ON THE GROUND

THE BULLS HAD RUN RIGHT OVER HIM AND ROZINANTE

HE FOUND THAT HIS ARMS AND LEGS WERE TIGHTLY FASTENED TO THE GROUND

GULLIVER IN LILLIPUT

ON THIS OCCASION, GULLIVER ATE MORE THAN USUAL

ALADDIN AND THE MAGICIAN

HINDBAD WAS CARRYING A VERY HEAVY LOAD

FROM FAR AND WIDE DID THE GREEK HOSTS GATHER

ANDROMACHE IN CAPTIVITY

TELEMACHUS KNELT WHERE THE GRAY WATER BROKE ON THE SAND

THE ESCAPE FROM THE SHIPWRECK

HE SAW THE MARK OF A NAKED FOOT ON THE SAND

ROBINSON RAN TO THE WHITE PRISONER AND CUT HIS BONDS

ALAS! OF ALL THE SHIPS I SEE, IS THERE NEVER ONE THAT WILL BRING MY
LORD HOME?

THE CURTAIN AT THE DOORWAY WAS DRAWN ASIDE

THEN DID CHRISTIAN DRAW HIS SWORD

MIRANDA WATCHING THE STORM

THE FAIRIES SING TITANIA TO SLEEP

BENDING DOWN A BRANCH OF THE LABURNUM-TREE

"IT WON'T DO," SAID BARBARA, TURNING HER BACK

"AND HERE'S HER CROWN!" CRIED ROSE

SHE SPOKE OF WHAT SHE DID NOT UNDERSTAND

HE WAS WANTED TO HOLD THE JUG OF MILK

HE TOOK THE CURRANT TART, AND ... THREW IT AT HIS NURSE

ROSAMOND RAN UP TO IT WITH AN EXCLAMATION OF JOY

WIDOW DOROTHY CAREFUL MADE A CURTSEY

THE GOAT DASHED IN AMONG THEM AND THE CHAIR WAS UPSET

EACH OF MY VISITORS IS QUITE AN EXCLUSIVE

IF LOUISA RECEIVED A NOTE, SHE CAREFULLY LOCKED IT UP


(Many of the illustrations in this volume are reproduced by special
permission of E.P. Dutton & Company, owners of American rights.)




INTRODUCTION




I

CLASSIC TALES


After our boys and girls have read the first half of this volume,
containing selected and simplified stories from some of the greatest
books of all time, their authors will cease to be merely names. Homer,
Shakespeare, Chaucer, Cervantes and Bunyan will be found here as
familiar and easy in style as "Cinderella" or "The Three Bears." True
enough, the first word in "Classic Tales" may look somewhat alarming
to the eyes of youthful seekers after romance and adventure, but we
challenge them to turn to any one of these selections from immortal
masterpieces and not become spellbound and, moreover, impatient for
more. And, believing now that they have grown very much interested in
these famous books, of course we also believe they want to learn
something about them.

Following the order of our stories we must begin with "Don Quixote."
Its author wrote it under great difficulties and distress; but one
would never think so, as it is full of laughable doings. When you read
our selections you must not think that Don Quixote was merely a silly
old man, for indeed he was a very noble gentleman and tried with all
his might to do what he believed to be his duty, and in no act of his
life was there ever a stain of dishonor or of meanness. As for his
queer fancies, you will find in your own experience that many things
are not as they seem.

Next comes one of Gulliver's voyages. Under all this account of a tiny
race of people there is fun poked at government and its ministers.
But we do not concern ourselves with such matters--all we think about
is the wonderful deeds of Gulliver in the land of the Lilliputians. Do
not think such people are impossible, for did not Stanley, the
explorer, find in Africa a race of dwarfs so little that he called
them pygmies? And perhaps when some of our young readers grow up,
they, too, may discover small folks in the world.

In regard to the "Arabian Nights," from which we give you three choice
stories, you ought to know the way they came to be told. Once upon a
time, a Sultan of Arabia thought that all women were of not much use,
so every day he married a new wife, and before twenty-four hours were
over he ordered that she have her head cut off. One brave woman
thought of a clever plan by which she could end this cruelty. She went
to the palace and offered to marry the Sultan, and that night she
began to tell him such fascinating stories that when morning came he
still wished to hear more. He commanded that she should not be
beheaded until all her stories were told. Then for a thousand and one
nights, night after night, she gave him fresh stories, and by the end
of that time the Sultan had fallen very much in love with her.
Naturally, they lived happily forever after. Perhaps these three
stories which we have selected will compel you to seek out all the
rest, and if you do, we are quite sure you will not wonder that the
brave lady won the heart of the wicked Sultan and made him good.

From the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" of Homer, we have given you some
soul-stirring happenings. Several thousand years ago these stories
were sung by a blind minstrel named Homer. Some day you may read
Homer's sublime poetry in the original Greek, and the selections which
we give you will help you to remember the stories when you are
struggling with that difficult language.

Parts of the old favorite "Robinson Crusoe" follow the Grecian tales,
and we trust its simple language will make the little ones love it
more than ever. You will remember that Defoe wrote this nearly two
hundred years ago. Everybody liked long stories in those days, but we
have all heard children of to-day ask when a somewhat lengthy book
would end, no matter how interesting, and many grown-ups are guilty
of reading the close of a story before they have gone very far in it.
So with that in mind we have put down in brief form most of Robinson
Crusoe's important adventures during his twenty-eight years on the
desert island.

Here we also give three splendid stories from Chaucer's "Canterbury
Tales," which were supposedly told to one another by a party of
pilgrims on their way to Canterbury. According to our gentle author,
who was one of them, they stopped over night at a house in England
called the Tabard Inn, and here they passed the hours repeating fine
stories. Afterward Chaucer wrote these down in a book in quaint old
English. One might look at these words all day long and not know in
the least what what some of them meant, though they do hold such
beautiful tales.

Now about "Pilgrim's Progress." More than two hundred years ago a
tinker named John Bunyan was in jail, but one night this poor man left
his prison and wandered into the land of dreams. There he saw
wonderful sights and heard marvelous things, and as there was no one
to listen to his dream, John Bunyan wrote it down, and had it made
into a book. And this he called "The Pilgrim's Progress." It was about
the journey and adventures of a pilgrim and his companions. In our
version we have given most of the dream, but when the boys and girls
grow older they will want to read it all in Bunyan's own language, and
we hope this account will lead them to do so.

Shakespeare is a magic name to grown-ups, but to children it does not
mean much. All they know is, that sometimes this name is spelled on
the back of one fat volume, sometimes on three, sometimes on a dozen
or more, but of the inside they know almost nothing, and when they
hear persons say that Shakespeare is the greatest writer that ever
lived, they wonder about it. If they take down a volume containing one
of his plays, they think it very dull, but here in simple language we
present the stories of two of the most fairy-like and beautiful plays,
as retold for children by Charles and Mary Lamb.

DANIEL EDWIN WHEELER.




II

OLD-FASHIONED STORIES


There is much truth in the saying that "old things are best, old books
are best, old friends are best." We like to connect in thought our
best-loved books and our best-loved friends. A good friend must have
some of the wisdom of a good book, though good books often talk to us
with wisdom and also with humor and courtesy greater than any living
friend may show. "Sometimes we think books are the best friends; they
never interrupt or contradict or criticise us."

Every year in our own country about ten thousand books are published.
Most of them die in early life. Three hundred years from now every one
of this year's ten thousand books will be dead and forgotten, except
possibly thirty or forty. The very best books do not die young. The
books written about three hundred years ago that are read to-day--like
Shakespeare's plays--are as a rule the books that deserve to live
forever. And, "Gentle Reader," if you are wise you will see _why_ the
old books are best: they are the wheat, and the winds of time have
blown only the chaff away.

Is it not strange that in the olden times so few poems or books or
stories were written for children? The "Iliad," the stories of King
Arthur, the "Canterbury Tales," and "Gulliver's Travels" and "Robinson
Crusoe," were written for men and women.

But happily this is the children's age, and now nearly half of all the
books written are written for children. You must remember, however,
that all boys and girls are children--in the eyes of the law--till
they are twenty-one years old.

We know a little boy who read last week a very modern story. The book
was bound in red cloth. It had a gilt top and very modern pictures
drawn by a great artist and printed in three or four colors. How
different from the books of one hundred years ago, with their black
covers and queer pictures!

This story read by the little New York boy last week has been read by
many little boys in Iowa, and by many little girls in Georgia. It
tells about an orphan boy who was "bound out" to a farmer who treated
him cruelly. He ran away to the Rocky Mountain region, where he had
many adventures with robbers and Indians and blizzards. He was strong
and heroic; he could shoot straight and ride the swiftest horses, and
nothing ever hurt him very much.

This, as I have said, is a modern story. It does not tell the reader
to be truthful and good. It just tells him a story of thrilling
adventures and daring escapes from danger. But the old-fashioned story
is different; and now we are getting close to our subject.

I will tell you all about the old-fashioned stories in a moment; but I
must remind you that these old stories were written about a hundred
years ago. They were usually written to teach a moral lesson. Dear old
John Aikin, or his sister Anna Letitia Barbauld, or Maria Edgeworth,
or Jane Taylor would say some morning--at any rate, so it seems to
me--"I will write a story to-day to teach boys and girls to be
industrious." And so "Busy Idleness" was written. Or one of these old
authors would decide to write a story the main object of which was to
teach little girls not to be too curious, and so "The Inquisitive
Girl" was written. Both of these stories, and many others equally
good, are found in this volume.

I could really tell you many interesting things about these
old-fashioned stories but I will do something better--urge you to read
them yourself. They are quaint, delightful, and entertaining stories,
besides teaching a moral. You boys and girls should read every one of
them, and then read them again, out loud, to your mothers or to
anybody else who will listen.

Among all the old-fashioned stories in this volume I find only one
that seems to me "really funny," and that is "Uncle David's
Nonsensical Story about the Giants and Fairies." Think of a giant so
tall that "he was obliged to climb up a ladder to comb his own hair."
But this bit of humor is not so good as a very modern nonsense-story
entitled "The Giant's Shoes," which I read the other day, and from
which the Managing Editor permits me to quote this little passage:

"The Giant slept for three weeks at a time, and two days after he
woke his breakfast was brought to him, consisting of bright brown
horses sprinkled on his bread and butter. Besides his boots, the Giant
had a pair of shoes, and in one of them his wife lived when she was at
home; on other occasions she lived in the other shoe. She was a
sensible, practical kind of woman, with two wooden legs and a
clothes-horse, but in other respects not rich. The wooden legs were
kept pointed at both ends, in order that if the Giant were
dissatisfied with his breakfast, he might pick up any stray people
that were within reach, using his wife as a fork; this annoyed the
inhabitants of the district, so that they built their church in a
southwesterly direction from the castle, behind the Giant's back, that
he might not be able to pick them up as they went in. But those who
stayed outside to play pitch-and-toss were exposed to great danger and
sufferings."

G.J.B.




CLASSIC TALES




DON QUIXOTE

By MIGUEL CERVANTES

ADAPTED BY JOHN LANG




I

HOW DON QUIXOTE WAS KNIGHTED


Some three or four hundred years ago, there lived in sunny Spain an
old gentleman named Quixada, who owned a house and a small property
near a village in La Mancha.

With him lived his niece, a housekeeper, and a man who looked after
Quixada's farm and his one old white horse, which, though its master
imagined it to be an animal of great strength and beauty, was really
as lean as Quixada himself and as broken down as any old cab horse.

Quixada had nothing in the world to do in the shape of work, and so,
his whole time was taken up in reading old books about knights and
giants, and ladies shut up in enchanted castles by wicked ogres. In
time, so fond did he become of such tales that he passed his days, and
even the best part of his nights, in reading them. His mind was so
wholly taken up in this way that at last he came to believe that he
himself lived in a land of giants and of ogres, and that it was his
duty to ride forth on his noble steed, to the rescue of unhappy
Princesses.

In the lumber-room of Quixada's house there had lain, ever since he
was born, a rusty old suit of armor, which had belonged to his
great-grandfather. This was now got out, and Quixada spent many days
in polishing and putting it in order.

Unfortunately, there was no more than half of the helmet to be found,
and a knight cannot ride forth without a helmet.

So Quixada made the other half of strong pasteboard; and to prove that
it was strong enough, when finished, he drew his sword and gave the
helmet a great slash. Alas! a whole week's work was ruined by that one
stroke; the pasteboard flew into pieces. This troubled Quixada sadly,
but he set to work at once and made another helmet of pasteboard,
lining it with thin sheets of iron, and it looked so well that, this
time, he put it to no test with his sword.

Now that his armor was complete, it occurred to him that he must give
his horse a name--every knight's horse should have a good name--and
after four days thought he decided that "Rozinante" would best suit
the animal.

Then, for himself, after eight days of puzzling, he resolved that he
should be called Don Quixote de la Mancha.

There was but one thing more. Every knight of olden time had a lady,
whom he called the Mistress of his Heart, whose glove he wore in his
helmet; and if anybody dared to deny that this lady was the most
beautiful woman in the whole world, then the knight made him prove his
words by fighting.

So it was necessary that Don Quixote should select some lady as the
Mistress of his Heart.

Near La Mancha there lived a stout country lass, for whom some years
before Don Quixote had had a kind of liking. Who, therefore, could
better take the place of Mistress of his Heart? To whom could he
better send the defeated knights and ogres whom he was going out to
fight? It was true that her name. Aldonza Lorenzo, did not sound like
that of a Princess or lady of high birth; so he determined in future
to call her Dulcinea del Toboso. No Princess could have a sweeter
name!

All being now ready, one morning Don Quixote got up before daylight,
and without saying a word to anybody, put on his armor, took his
sword, and spear, and shield, saddled "Rozinante," and started on his
search for adventures.

But before he had gone very far, a dreadful thought struck him. He had
not been knighted! Moreover, he had read in his books that until a
knight had done some great deed, he must wear white armor, and be
without any device or coat of arms on his shield. What was to be done?
He was so staggered by this thought that he almost felt that he must
turn back. But then he remembered that he had read how adventurers
were sometimes knighted by persons whom they happened to meet on the
road. And as to his armor, why, he thought he might scour and polish
that till nothing could be whiter. So he rode on, letting "Rozinante"
take which road he pleased, that being, he supposed, as good a way as
any of looking for adventures.

All day he rode, to his sorrow without finding anything worth calling
an adventure.

At last as evening began to fall, and when he and his horse were both
very weary, they came in sight of an inn. Don Quixote no sooner saw
the inn than he fancied it to be a great castle, and he halted at some
distance from it, expecting that, as in days of old, a dwarf would
certainly appear on the battlements, and, by sounding a trumpet, give
notice of the arrival of a knight. But no dwarf appeared, and as
"Rozinante" showed great haste to reach the stable, Don Quixote began
to move towards the inn.

At this moment it happened that a swineherd in a field near at hand
sounded his horn to bring his herd of pigs home to be fed. Don
Quixote, imagining that this must be the dwarf at last giving notice
of his coming, rode quickly up to the inn door, beside which it
chanced that there stood two very impudent young women, whom the
Knight imagined to be two beautiful ladies taking the air at the
castle gate.

Astonished at the sight of so strange a figure, and a little
frightened, the girls turned to run away. But Don Quixote stopped
them.

"I beseech ye, ladies, do not fly," he said. "I will harm no one,
least of all maidens of rank so high as yours."

And much more he said, whereat the young women laughed so loud and so
long that Don Quixote became very angry, and there is no saying what
he might not have done had not the innkeeper at that moment come out.
This innkeeper was very fat and good-natured, and anxious not to
offend anybody, but even he could hardly help laughing when he saw Don
Quixote. However, he very civilly asked the Knight to dismount and
offered him everything that the inn could provide.

Don Quixote being by this time both tired and hungry, with some
difficulty got off his horse and handed it to the innkeeper (to whom
he spoke as governor of the castle), asking him to take the greatest
care of "Rozinante," for in the whole world there was no better steed.

When the landlord returned from the stable, he found Don Quixote in a
room, where, with the help of the two young women, he was trying to
get rid of his armor. His back and breastplates had been taken off,
but by no means could his helmet be removed without cutting the green
ribbons with which he had tied it on, and this the Knight would not
allow.

There was nothing for it, therefore, but to keep his helmet on all
night, and to eat and drink in it, which was more than he could do
without help. However, one of the young women fed him, and the
innkeeper having made a kind of funnel, through it poured the wine
into his mouth, and Don Quixote ate his supper in great peace of mind.

There was but one thing that still vexed him. He had not yet been
knighted.

On this subject he thought long and deeply, and at last he asked the
innkeeper to come with him to the stable. Having shut the door, Don
Quixote threw himself at the landlord's feet, saying, "I will never
rise from this place, most valorous Knight, until you grant me a
boon."

The innkeeper was amazed, but as he could not by any means make Don
Quixote rise, he promised to do whatever was asked.

"Then, noble sir," said Don Quixote, "the boon which I crave is that
to-morrow you will be pleased to grant me the honor of knighthood."

The landlord, when he heard such talk, thought that the wisest thing
he could do was to humor his guest, and he readily promised. Thereupon
Don Quixote very happily rose to his feet, and after some further talk
he said to the innkeeper that this night he would "watch his armor" in
the chapel of the castle, it being the duty of any one on whom the
honor of knighthood was to be conferred, to stand on his feet in the
chapel, praying, until the morning. The innkeeper, thinking that
great sport might come of this, encouraged Don Quixote, but as his own
chapel had lately--so he said--been pulled down in order that a better
might be built, he advised Don Quixote to watch that night in the
courtyard. This was "lawful in a case where a chapel was not at hand.
And in the morning," he said, "I will knight you."

"Have you any money?" then asked the innkeeper.

"Not a penny," said Don Quixote, "for I never yet read of any knight
who carried money with him."

"You are greatly mistaken," answered the innkeeper. "Most knights had
squires, who carried their money and clean shirts and other things.
But when a knight had no squire, he always carried his money and his
shirts, and salve for his wounds, in a little bag behind his saddle. I
must therefore advise you never in future to go anywhere without
money."

Don Quixote promised to remember this. Then taking his armor, he went
into the inn yard and laid it in a horse-trough.

Backwards and forwards, spear in hand, he marched in the moonlight,
very solemnly keeping his eyes on his armor, while the innkeeper's
other guests, laughing, looked on from a distance.

Now it happened that a carrier who lodged at the inn came into the
yard to water his mules, and this he could not do while the armor lay
in the horse-trough. As Don Quixote saw the man come up, "Take heed,
rash Knight," he cried. "Defile not by a touch the armor of the most
brave knight-errant that ever wore a sword."

But the mule-driver took no notice of Don Quixote. He picked up the
armor and threw it away.

Don Quixote no sooner saw this than, raising his eyes to heaven, and
calling on his Lady Dulcinea del Toboso, he lifted up his spear with
both hands and gave the mule-driver such a whack over the head that
the man fell down senseless. Then, picking up his armor and putting it
back in the horse-trough, he went on with his march, taking no further
notice of the poor mule-driver.

Soon up came another carrier who also wanted to water his mules.

Not a word did Don Quixote say this time, but he lifted up his spear
and smote so heavily that he broke the man's head in three or four
places. The poor wretch made such an outcry that all the people in the
inn came running, and the friends of the two carriers began to pelt
Don Quixote with stones. But drawing his sword, and holding his shield
in front of him, he defied them all, crying, "Come on, base knaves!
Draw nearer if you dare!"

The landlord now came hurrying up and stopped the stone-throwing;
then, having calmed Don Quixote, he said that there was no need for
him to watch his armor any longer; to finish the ceremony it would now
be enough if he were touched on the neck and shoulders with a sword.
Don Quixote was quite satisfied, and prayed the innkeeper to get the
business over as quickly as possible, "for," said he, "if I were but
knighted, and should see myself attacked, I believe that I should not
leave a man alive in this castle."

The innkeeper, a good deal alarmed at this, and anxious to get rid of
him, hurried off and got the book in which he kept his accounts, which
he pretended was a kind of book of prayer. Having also brought the two
young women, and a boy to hold a candle, he ordered Don Quixote to
kneel. Then muttering from his book, as if he were reading, he
finished by giving Don Quixote a good blow on the neck, and a slap on
the back, with the flat of a sword. After this, one of the young women
belted the sword round the newly made knight's waist, while the other
buckled on his spurs, and having at once saddled "Rozinante." Don
Quixote was ready to set out.

The innkeeper was only too glad to see him go, even without paying for
his supper.




II

HOW DON QUIXOTE RESCUED ANDRES; AND HOW HE RETURNED HOME


As he rode along in the early morning light, Don Quixote began to
think that it would be well that he should return home for a little,
there to lay in a stock of money and of clean shirts, and he turned
his willing horse's head in the direction of his village.

But ere he had gone far on his way, coming from a thicket he fancied
that he heard cries of distress.

"Certainly these are the moans of some poor creature in want of help,"
thought Don Quixote. "I thank Heaven for so soon giving me the chance
to perform my duty as a knight."

And he rode quickly towards the sounds. No sooner had he reached the
wood than he saw a horse tied to a tree, and bound to another was a
lad of fifteen, all naked above the waist. By his side stood a
countryman beating him with a strap, and with every blow calling out,
"I'll teach you to keep your eyes open, you young scamp. I'll teach
you to keep your mouth shut."

The boy howled with pain. Quickly Don Quixote rode up to the man.

"Sir Knight," said he angrily, "I would have thee to know that it is
an unworthy act to strike one who cannot defend himself. Mount thy
steed, therefore, take thy spear, and I will teach thee that thou art
a coward."

The countryman gave himself up for lost, and he gasped out very humbly
that the boy was his servant, through whose carelessness many of the
sheep that he should have watched had been lost, and that therefore he
was giving him a sound beating. "And," said he, "because I beat him
for his carelessness, he says I do it to cheat him out of his wages."

"What!" shouted Don Quixote, "do you dare to lie to me? By the sun
above us, I have a mind to run you through with my spear. Pay the boy
this instant, and let him go free. What does he owe you, boy?"

The boy said that the man owed him nine months' wages.

"Pay at once, you scoundrel, unless you want to be killed," roared Don
Quixote.

The poor man, trembling with fear, said that there was a mistake; he
did not owe nearly so much, and besides, he had no money with him. But
if Andres would go home with him he would pay every penny.

"Go home with him!" cried the boy. "I know a trick worth two of that.
No sooner will he have me home than he'll take the skin off me. No,
no, not I!"

"He will not dare to touch you," said the Knight. "I command him, and
that is enough. If he swears by his order of knighthood to do this
thing, I will let him go, and he will pay you your wages."

"Of course I will," said the man. "Come along with me. Andres, and I
swear I'll give you all I owe."

"Remember, then, what you have promised, for I am Don Quixote de la
Mancha, the righter of wrongs, and it is at your peril to disobey me."

So saying, Don Quixote clapped spurs to his horse, and galloped off
through the trees.

The countryman watched till the Knight was out of sight. Then,
turning, he said "Come, my lad, and I'll pay thee what I owe, and
more."

"Ay," answered the boy, "see that you do, for if you do not, that
brave man will come back and make you."

"I dare swear that," said the man. "And just to show how much I love
you, I am going to increase the debt, so that I may pay you more. Come
here!"

And with that he caught the boy by the arm, tied him again to the
tree, and belted him till his arm was tired.

"Now go," he said, "and tell your righter of wrongs. I wish I had
flayed you alive, you young whelp."

And so ended Don Quixote's first attempt to right wrongs.

As the Knight cantered along, very well pleased with himself, about
two miles from where he had freed the boy he saw riding towards him
six men, each shading himself under a large umbrella. With them were
four mounted servants, and three on foot.

No sooner did Don Quixote see this party than it struck him that here
was the chance for which, above all others, he had been longing.

Posting himself in the middle of the road, he waited till the men were
at no great distance. Then, "Halt!" shouted he. "Let all know that no
man shall pass further till he owns that in the whole world there is
no damsel more beautiful than the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso."

"But," said the men (who were merchants of Toledo, on their way to buy
silks), "we do not know the lady. We have never seen her. How then can
we say that she is beautiful?"

"What!" roared Don Quixote in a terrible rage, "not know the beauteous
Lady Dulcinea del Toboso! That only makes matters worse. Do you dare
to argue?"

And with that he couched his spear, drove his spurs into "Rozinante,"
and rode furiously at the nearest merchant.

What he would have done it is not possible to say. But as he galloped,
it chanced that "Rozinante" stumbled and fell heavily, rolling Don
Quixote over and over. There the Knight lay helpless, the weight of
his armor preventing him from rising to his feet. But as he lay, he
continued to cry out at the top of his voice, "Stop, you rascals! Do
not fly. It is my horse's fault that I lie here, you cowards!"

One of the grooms, hearing his master called a rascal and a coward,
thereupon ran up and snatched away Don Quixote's spear, which he broke
in pieces. Then with each piece he belabored the poor Knight till the
broken lance flew into splinters. The merchants then rode away,
leaving Don Quixote lying where he fell, still shouting threats, but
quite unable to rise.

There he was found by a man who knew him well, and who with great
difficulty mounted him on his donkey and took him home. When at last
they reached Don Quixote's house, the poor Knight was put to bed,
where he lay for many days, raving, and very ill.

During this time the Curate of the village and the Barber came and
burned nearly all the books which Don Quixote had so loved.

"For," said they, "it is by reading these books that the poor
gentleman has lost his mind, and if he reads them again he will never
get better."

So a bonfire was made of the books, and the door of Don Quixote's
study was bricked up.

When the Knight was again able to go about, he made at once for his
study and his beloved books. Up and down the house he searched without
saying a word, and often he would stand where the door of the study
used to be, feeling with his hands and gazing about. At last he asked
his housekeeper to show him the study.

"Study!" cried the woman, "what study? There is no study in this house
now, nor any books."

"No," said his niece. "When you were away, a famous enchanter came
along, mounted on a dragon, and he went into your study. What he did
there we know not. But after a time he flew out of the roof, leaving
the house full of smoke, and ever since then we have not been able to
find either books or study."

"Ha!" said Don Quixote. "That must have been Freston. He is a famous
enchanter, and my bitter enemy. But when I am again well I shall get
the better of him."




III

HOW DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA STARTED ON THEIR SEARCH FOR
ADVENTURES; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE FOUGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS


For some weeks the poor Knight stayed very quietly at home. But he had
not forgotten the things for which he had come back to his village.

There was a farm laborer who lived near by, a fat, good-natured,
simple man. To him Don Quixote talked long and often, and made many
promises; among others that if he would but come with him as squire,
he should be made governor of any island which the Knight might happen
to conquer during his search after adventures.

This seemed so grand a thing to the man (whose name was Sancho Panza),
that he willingly promised to come.

Having got together some money, and having made other preparations,
Don Quixote and Sancho Panza one dark night stole out of the village
without a word to any one, and began their adventures.

Don Quixote rode "Rozinante;" Sancho Panza was mounted on an ass. That
his squire should ride an ass at first troubled the Knight not a
little, for in none of his books could he remember to have read of
any squire being so mounted. However, he gave Sancho leave to bring
the ass, thinking that in no great time a better mount would surely be
found for him.

As they rode along in the cool of the morning, Sancho Panza spoke to
his master about their journey, and asked him to be sure not to forget
his promise about the governorship of the island.

"It may even happen," answered Don Quixote, "that I may by some
strange chance conquer a kingdom. And then presently, I may be able to
crown thee King."

"Why," said Sancho, "if by some such miracle as your worship speaks
of, I am made a King, then would my wife be Queen?"

"Certainly," answered Don Quixote, "who can doubt it?"

"I doubt it," replied Sancho, "for I think if it should rain kingdoms
upon the face of the earth, not one of them would sit well on my
wife's head. For I must tell you, sir, she's not worth two brass jacks
to make a Queen of. No, no! countess will be quite good enough; that's
as much as she could well manage."

"Nay," said Don Quixote, "leave the matter in the hands of Providence,
and be not tempted by anything less than the title of Viceroy."

Thus talking, they came over the brow of a hill, and looking down on
the plain below, Don Quixote saw there thirty or forty windmills.

"Ha!" cried he. "Fortune directs our affairs better than we ourselves
could do. Look yonder, friend Sancho, there are at at least thirty
outrageous giants whom I must now fight."

"Giants!" gasped Sancho Panza, "what giants?"

"Those whom you see over there with their long arms," answered Don
Quixote. "Some of that horrible race, I have heard, have arms near two
leagues in length."

"But, sir," said Sancho, "these are no giants. They are only
windmills, and the things you think are arms are but their sails,
whereby the wind drives them."

"That is but a sign," answered Don Quixote, "whereby one may see how
little you know of adventures. I tell you they are giants: and I shall
fight against them all. If you are afraid, go aside and say your
prayers."

So saying, and without paying any heed to the bawlings of Sancho
Panza, he put spurs to his horse and galloped furiously at the
windmills, shouting aloud, "Stand, cowards! stand your ground, and fly
not from a single Knight."

Just at this moment the wind happened to rise, causing the arms of the
windmills to move.

"Base scoundrels!" roared the Knight, "though you wave as many arms as
the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your pride."

And with couched lance, and covering himself with his shield, he
rushed "Rozinante" at top speed on the nearest windmill. Round whirled
the sails, and as Don Quixote's lance pierced one of them, horse and
man were sent rolling on the ground. There Sancho Panza came to help
his sorely bruised master.

"Mercy o' me!" cried Sancho, "did not I tell you they were windmills?"

"Peace, friend Sancho," answered Don Quixote. "It is the fortune of
war. I know very well it is that accursed wizard Freston, the enemy
who took from me my study and my books, who has changed these giants
into windmills to take from me the honor of the victory. But in the
end I shall yet surely get the better of him."

"Amen! say I" quoth Sancho: and heaving the poor Knight on to his
legs, once more he got him seated on "Rozinante."

As they now rode along, it was a great sorrow to Don Quixote that his
spear had been broken to pieces in this battle with the windmill.

"I have read," said he to Sancho, "that a certain Spanish knight,
having broken his sword in a fight, pulled up by the roots a huge
oak-tree, or at least tore down a great branch, and with it did such
wonderful deeds that he was ever after called 'The Bruiser.' I tell
you this because I intend to tear up the next oak-tree we meet, and
you may think yourself fortunate that you will see the deeds I shall
perform with it."

"Heaven grant you may!" said Sancho. "But, an' it please you, sit a
little more upright in your saddle; you are all to one side. But that,
mayhap, comes from your hurts?"

"It does so," answered Don Quixote, "and if I do not complain of the
pain, it is because a knight-errant must never complain of his wounds,
though they be killing him."

"I have no more to say," replied Sancho. "Yet Heaven knows I should be
glad to hear your honor complain a bit, now and then, when something
ails you. For my part, I always cry out when I'm hurt, and I am glad
the rule about not complaining doesn't extend to squires."

That night they spent under the trees, from one of which Don Quixote
tore down a branch, to which he fixed the point of his spear, and in
some sort that served him for a lance. Don Quixote neither ate nor
slept all the night, but passed his time, as he had learned from his
books that a knight should do, in thoughts of the Lady Dulcinea. As
for Sancho Panza, he had brought with him a big bottle of wine, and
some food in his wallet, and he stuffed himself as full as he could
hold, and slept like a top.

As they rode along next day, they came to the Pass of Lapice.

"Here, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "is the spot where adventures should
begin. Now may we hope to thrust our hands, as it were, up to the very
elbows in adventures. But remember this! However sore pressed and in
danger I may be when fighting with another knight, you must not offer
to draw your sword to help me. It is against the laws of chivalry for
a squire to attack a knight."

"Never fear me, master," said Sancho. "I'll be sure to obey you; I
have ever loved peace. But if a knight offers to set upon me first,
there is no rule forbidding me to hit him back, is there?"

"None," answered Don Quixote, "only do not help me."

"I will not," said Sancho. "Never trust me if I don't keep that
commandment as well as I do the Sabbath."




IV

HOW DON QUIXOTE WON A HELMET; HOW HE FOUGHT WITH TWO ARMIES; AND HOW
SANCHO'S ASS WAS STOLEN


Many were the adventures that now befell Don Quixote and Sancho Panza.
In the very first, wherein he fought with a man from Biscay, whom he
left lying in a pool of blood, Don Quixote lost part of his helmet,
and had the half of one of his ears sliced off by the Biscayan's
sword. The accident to the helmet was a great grief to him, and he
swore an oath that until he had taken from some other knight as good a
helmet as that which was now made useless to him, he would never again
eat his food on a table-cloth.

One day as they rode along a highway between two villages Don Quixote
halted and looked eagerly at something.

"Sancho," said he, "dost thou not see yonder knight that comes riding
this way on a dapple-gray steed, with a helmet of gold on his head?"

"Not a thing can I see," answered Sancho, "but a fellow on just such
another ass as mine, with something that glitters on top of his head."

"Can you not see," asked Don Quixote, "that it is a helmet? Do you
stand back, and let me deal with him. Soon now shall I possess myself
of the helmet that I need."

Now, in those far-away days, when doctors were few, if anybody needed
to be bled for a fever or any other illness (for it was then thought
that "letting blood" was the cure for most illnesses), it was the
custom for the barber to bleed the sick person. For the purpose of
catching the blood that ran from a vein when it had been cut, a brass
dish was carried, a dish with part of it cut away from one side, so
that it might the more easily be held close to the patient's arm or
body. A small dish like this you may sometimes still see hanging as a
sign at the end of a pole outside barbers' shops. Barbers in those
days of old were called barber-surgeons, for the reason that they bled
people, as well as shaved them or cut their hair.

And the truth of the matter was this, that the man whom Don Quixote
now believed to be a knight, wearing a golden helmet, was a barber
riding on his ass to bleed a sick man. And because it was raining, he
had put his brass dish on his head, in order to keep his new hat from
being spoiled.

Don Quixote did not wait to speak to the man, but, couching his lance,
galloped at him as hard as "Rozinante" could go, shouting as he rode,
"Defend thyself, base wretch!"

The barber no sooner saw this terrible figure charging down on him,
than, to save himself from being run through, he flung himself on to
the ground, and then jumping to his feet, ran for his life, leaving
his ass and the brass basin behind him. Then Don Quixote ordered
Sancho to pick up the helmet.

"O' my word," said Sancho, as he gave it to his master, "it is a fine
basin."

Don Quixote at once put it on his head, saying, "It is a famous
helmet, but the head for which it was made must have been of great
size. The worst of it is that at least one-half of it is gone. What is
the fool grinning at now?" he cried, as Sancho laughed.

"Why, master," answered Sancho, "it is a barber's basin."

"It has indeed some likeness to a basin," said Don Quixote, "but I
tell you it is an enchanted helmet of pure gold, and for the sake of a
little wretched money some one has melted down the half of it. When we
come to a town where there is an armorer, I will have it altered to
fit my head. Meantime I shall wear it as it is."

As they rode along one day talking of many things, Don Quixote beheld
a cloud of dust rising right before them.

"Seest thou that cloud of dust, Sancho?" he asked. "It is raised by a
great army marching this way."

"Why, master," said Sancho, "there must be two armies there, for
yonder is just such another cloud of dust."

The knight looked, and was overjoyed, believing that two armies were
about to meet and fight in the plain.

"What are we to do, master?" asked Sancho.

"Do!" said Don Quixote, "why, what can we do but help the weaker side?
Look yonder, Sancho, that knight whom thou seest in the gilded armory
with a lion crouching at the feet of a lady painted on his shield,
that is the valiant Laurcalco. That other, the giant on his right,
Brandabarbaran." And he ran over a long list of names of knights whom
he believed that he saw.

Sancho listened, as dumb as a fish; but at last he gasped. "Why,
master, you might as well tell me that it snows. Never a knight, nor a
giant, nor a man can I see."

"How!" answered Don Quixote, "canst thou not hear their horses neigh,
and their drums beating?"

"Drums!" said Sancho. "Not I! I hear only the bleating of sheep."

"Since you are afraid," said the Knight, "stand aside, and I will go
by myself to fight."

With that, he galloped down on to the plain, shouting, leaving Sancho
bawling to him, "Hold, sir! Stop! For Heaven's sake come back. As sure
as I'm a sinner, they are only harmless sheep. Come back, I say."

But Don Quixote, paying not the least heed, galloped on furiously and
charged into the middle of the sheep, spearing them right and left,
trampling the living and the dead under "Rozinante's" feet. The
shepherds, finding that he took no notice of their shouts, now hurled
stones at him from their slings, and one big stone presently hit the
Knight fair in his ribs and doubled him up in the saddle.

Gasping for breath, with all speed Don Quixote got from his wallet a
bottle filled with a mixture he had made, a mixture which he firmly
believed to be a certain cure for all wounds. Of this he took a long
gulp, but just at that moment another big stone hit him such a rap on
the mouth that the bottle was smashed into a thousand pieces, and half
of his teeth were knocked out.

Down dropped the Knight on the ground, and the shepherds thinking that
he was killed, ran away, taking with them seven dead sheep which he
had slain.

Sancho Panza found his master in a very bad way, with nearly all the
teeth gone from one side of his mouth, and with a terrible pain under
his ribs.

"Ah! master," he said, "I told you they were sheep. Why would not you
listen to me?"

"Sheep! Sancho. No, no! There is nothing so easy for a wizard like
Freston as to change things from one shape to the other. I will wager
if you now mount your ass and ride over the hill after them, you will
find no sheep there, but the knights and squires come back to their
own shape, and the armies marching as when we first saw them."

Now, after this and many other adventures (about which, perhaps, you
may some day read for yourself), Don Quixote and Sancho Panza rode
away into the mountains, for the Knight was sorely in need of a quiet
place in which to rest.

So weary were he and his squire, that one night, when they had ridden
into a wood, and it chanced that the horse and the ass stood still,
both Don Quixote and Sancho Panza fell sound asleep without even
getting out of their saddles. There sat the Knight, leaning on his
lance; and Sancho, doubled over the pommel, snored as loud as if he
had been in a four-post feather bed.

It happened that a wandering thief saw them as he passed.

"Now," thought he, "I want something to ride upon, for I'm tired of
walking in these abominable mountains. Here's a chance of a good ass.
But how am I to get it, without waking its master?"

Very quietly he cut four long sticks. One after the other he placed
these under each side of Sancho's saddle; then loosening the girths,
he gradually raised the sticks till the saddle was clear of the
animal's back.

Gently, in the moonlight, he led the tired ass away, and Sancho,
undisturbed, snored on.

When it was broad daylight, the squire awoke, and without opening his
eyes, stretched himself. Down fell the sticks; down with a terrible
bump fell Sancho.

"Body o' me!" he yelled, "where is my ass?" And with many tears he
searched high and low, but no ass was then to be found, nor for many
months afterwards. And how at last Sancho got back the ass you must
read for yourself in the History of Don Quixote. For yourself, too,
you must read of Don Quixote's adventures in the mountains; how he
there did penance; and of many other things, till at last the Curate
and the Barber of La Mancha took him home in a cart which the Knight
believed to be an enchanted chariot.




V

HOW DON QUIXOTE SAW DULCINEA


Now a third time did Don Quixote set off on his search for adventures,
and as he and Sancho Panza rode again away from their village, it
seemed to Don Quixote that certainly it was his duty as a
knight-errant to visit the Mistress of his Heart, the beautiful
Dulcinea.

It was midnight when they reached Toboso, and the whole town was
still, everybody in bed and asleep.

"Lead me to her palace, Sancho," said Don Quixote.

"Palace?" cried Sancho, "What palace do you mean? Body o' me! When
last I saw her, she lived in a little cottage in a blind alley. And
even if it were a palace, we can't go and thunder at the door at this
time o' night."

"When we find it, I will tell thee what to do. But, here! What is
this?" said the Knight, riding up to a huge building, and knocking at
the door. "This indeed, without doubt, must be her palace."

But it was only the great Church of Toboso. Hunt as he would, he found
no Dulcinea's palace, and as morning began to break, Sancho persuaded
him to come and rest in a grove of trees two miles outside the town.
From there Sancho was again sent to look for Dulcinea, bearing many
messages from his sorrowful master.

"Cheer up, sir," said Sancho. "I'll be back in a trice. Don't be cast
down. Faint heart never won fair lady."

And Sancho rode away, leaving the Knight sitting on his horse, very
full of melancholy. But he had not ridden far, when, turning round and
finding that his master was no longer in sight, the squire dismounted,
and lying down under a shady tree, began to think the matter over.

"Friend Sancho," said he to himself, "what's this you are doing?"

"Why, hunting for a Princess, who, my master says, is the Sun of
Beauty, and all sorts of other fine things, and who lives in a King's
palace, or great castle, somewhere or other."

"And how are you going to find her?"

"Why, it's like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay, to look for
Dulcinea all over Toboso. My master's mad, there's no doubt of that;
and perhaps I'm not very much better, for they say birds of a feather
flock together. But if he's so mad as to mistake windmills for giants,
and flocks of sheep for armies, why, it shouldn't be so very hard to
make him believe that the first country lass I meet is the Lady
Dulcinea. If he won't believe, I'll swear it, and stand to it, so that
he'll think some of those wicked wizards of his have played another
trick on him, and have changed her into some other shape just to spite
him."

Having thus settled his plans, Sancho lay there till the evening, so
that his master might think that all the day had been spent in going
to and from Toboso, and in looking for Dulcinea.

As luck would have it, just as he mounted his ass to ride back to Don
Quixote, he spied coming that way three country lasses mounted on
asses. As soon as Sancho saw the girls, he made haste to get to his
master.

"What news, Sancho?" asked the Knight. "Has your fortune been good?"

"Ay, marry has it, sir," answered Sancho, "you have no more to do but
to clap spurs to 'Rozinante' and get into the open fields, and you'll
meet my Lady Dulcinea del Toboso with two of her damsels coming to see
you."

"Blessed Heaven!" cried the Knight. "What do you say, my dear Sancho?
Is it possible?"

"Possible!" said Sancho. "Why should I play a trick on you? Come, sir,
and you will see her presently, all dressed up and decked with jewels.
Her damsels and she are all covered with diamonds, and rubies, and
cloth of gold. And what is more, they are riding three flea-bitten
gambling hags, the like of which won't be seen again."

"Ambling nags, thou meanest, Sancho," said Don Quixote.

"Well, well, master, gambling hags or ambling nags, it's all one and
the same thing. Any way, I'm sure I never set eyes on more beautiful
ladies than those that sit upon them."

"Let us be moving then, Sancho. And as a reward for your good news, I
promise you the very best things I get in our next adventure. And if
that is not enough, then I will give you the three colts that I have
at home in La Mancha."

"Thank you for the colts," said Sancho. "As for the other things, I'm
not sure that they will be worth so very much."

They were now out of the wood, and could see the three country lasses
at a little distance.

Don Quixote looked long towards Toboso, but seeing no one anywhere but
these girls, he was much troubled in his mind, and asked Sancho if he
were sure that the Princess had left the city.

"Left the city!" cried Sancho. "Why where are your eyes, sir? In the
name of wonder, do you not see her and her maidens coming towards us
now, as bright as the sun at midday?"

"I see nothing, Sancho, but three country wenches riding on asses."

"Now Heaven help me," cried Sancho, "is it possible that you can
mistake three what do you call 'ems--ambling nags as white as snow,
for three asses! Pull my beard out by the roots if it is not so."

"Believe me, Sancho, they are asses."

"Come, sir," answered Sancho, "do but clear your eyes, and go and
speak to the Mistress of your Heart, for she is near you now."

So saying, Sancho hurried up to one of the girls, and, jumping off his
ass, fell on his knees before her, gabbling a lot of nonsense.

Don Quixote followed, and also knelt down, gazing with doubting and
sorrowful eyes on the creature that Sancho had told him was the
beautiful Dulcinea. He was lost in wonder, for she was a flat-nosed,
blubber-cheeked, bouncing country girl, and Don Quixote could not
utter a word.

"Come! get out of the way," screamed the girl, "and let us go about
our business. We're in a hurry."

"Rise, Sancho," said Don Quixote when he heard the girl's voice. "I am
now convinced that misfortune has not yet finished with me. O most
beautiful lady! a spiteful enchanter puts mists before my eyes, and
hides from me your loveliness."

"My grandmother take him!" cried the girl. "Listen to his gibberish!
Get out of the way, and let us alone." And kicking her donkey in the
ribs, she galloped away with her friends. Don Quixote followed them
long with his eyes.

"O the spite of those wicked enchanters!" he sighed, "to turn my
beautiful Dulcinea into so vile a shape as that: to take from her the
sweet and delicate scent of fragrant flowers, and give to her what she
has. For, to tell the truth, Sancho, she gave me such a whiff of raw
onions that it was like to upset me altogether."

"O the vile and evil-minded enchanters!" cried Sancho. "Oh that I
might see the lot of you threaded on one string, and hung up in the
smoke like so many herrings." And Sancho turned away to hide his
laughter.

Don Quixote rode on, very sad, and letting "Rozinante" go where he
pleased.




VI

HOW DON QUIXOTE FOUGHT WITH A LION; AND HOW HE DEFEATED THE MOORS


As Don Quixote and Sancho Panza went along, they were overtaken by a
gentleman in a fine green coat, who rode a very good mare. This
gentleman stared very hard at Don Quixote, and the two began to speak
together about knight-errantry, and were so interested in what they
were saying, that Sancho took the opportunity of riding over to ask
for a little milk from some shepherds, who were milking their ewes
near at hand.

While he was thus away from his master, a wagon, on top of which
fluttered little yellow and red flags, came along the road towards
them. Don Quixote at once imagined this to be some new adventure, and
he called to Sancho for his helmet. At the moment, Sancho was
bargaining with the shepherds for some curds. Hearing his master call,
he had not time to wait till the shepherds could give him a bowl in
which to carry them, and not wishing to lose his bargain (for he had
paid the shepherds), he poured the curds into the Knight's helmet, and
galloped off to see what his master wanted.

"Give me my helmet," said Don Quixote, "for if I know anything of my
business, here is an adventure for which I must be ready."

The gentleman in green, hearing what Don Quixote said, looked
everywhere, but he could see nothing except the wagon coming towards
them, and as that had on it the King of Spain's colors, he thought
that no doubt it was one of his Majesty's treasure-vans. He said as
much to Don Quixote, but the Knight answered: "Sir, I cannot tell
when, or where, or in what shape, my enemies will attack me. It is
always wise to be ready. Fore-warned is fore-armed. Give me my helmet,
Sancho!"

Snatching it out of Sancho's unwilling hands, he clapped it on his
head without looking into it.

"What is this, Sancho?" he cried, as the whey ran down his face. "What
is the matter with me? Is my brain melting, or am I breaking out in a
cold sweat? If I am, it is not from fear. This must be a dreadful
adventure that is coming. Quick. Sancho! give me something to wipe
away the torrent of sweat, for I am almost blinded."

Without a word, Sancho handed to his master a cloth. Don Quixote dried
himself, and then took off his helmet to see what it was that felt so
cold on his head.

"What is this white stuff?" said he, putting some of the curds to his
nose. "Sancho, you vile traitor, you have been putting curds in my
helmet!"

"Curds!--I?" cried Sancho. "Nay, the devil must have put them there.
Would I dare to make such a mess in your helmet, sir? It must have
been one of those vile enchanters. Where could I get curds? I would
sooner put them in my stomach than in your helmet."

"Well, that's true, I dare say," said Don Quixote. "There's something
in that."

Then again he put on the helmet, and made ready for the adventure.

"Now come what may, I dare meet it," he cried.

The wagon had now come near to them. On top was seated a man, and the
driver rode one of the mules that drew it. Don Quixote rode up.

"Whither go ye, my friends?" said he. "What wagon is this, and what
have you in it? What is the meaning of the flags?"

"The wagon is mine," said the driver, "and I have in it a lion that is
being sent to the King, and the flags are flying to let the people
know that it is the King's property."

"A lion!" cried Don Quixote, "Is it a large one?"

"The biggest I ever saw," said the man on top of the wagon. "I am the
keeper, and I have had charge of many lions, but I never saw one so
large as this. Pray get out of the way, sir, for we must hurry on to
our stopping-place. It is already past his feeding-time; he is
beginning to get hungry, and they are always savage when they are
hungry."

"What!" cried Don Quixote, "lion whelps against me! I'll let those
gentlemen know who send lions this way, that I am not to be scared by
any of their lions. So, Mr. Keeper, just jump down and open his cage,
and let him out. In spite of all the enchanters in the world that have
sent him to try me, I'll let the animal see who Don Quixote de la
Mancha is."

Up ran Sancho to the gentleman in green.

"O good, dear sir," he cried, "don't let my master get at the lion, or
we shall all be torn to pieces."

"Why," said the gentleman, "is your master so mad that you fear he'll
set upon such a dangerous brute."

"Oh no, sir, he's not mad; he's only rash, very, very rash," cried
Sancho.

"Well," said the gentleman, "I'll see to it," and up he went to Don
Quixote, who was trying to get the keeper to open the cage.

"Sir," said he, "knight-errants ought not to engage in adventures from
which there is no hope of coming off in safety. That is more like
madness than courage. Besides, this is the King's wagon; it will
never do to stop that. And after all, the lion has not been sent
against you; it is a present to the King."

"Pray, sir," cried Don Quixote, "will you attend to your own business?
This is mine, and I know best whether this lion has been sent against
me or not. Now you, sir," he cried to the keeper, "either open that
cage at once, or I'll pin you to your wagon with my spear."

"For mercy's sake, sir," cried the driver, "do but let me take my
mules out of harm's way before the lion gets out. My cart and my mules
are all I have in the world, and I shall be ruined if harm comes to
them."

"Take them out quickly, then," said Don Quixote, "and take them where
you please."

On this the driver made all the haste he could to unharness his mules,
while the keeper called aloud, "Take notice, everybody, that it is
against my will that I am forced to let loose the lion, and that this
gentleman here is to blame for all the damage that will be done. Get
out of the way, everybody: look out for yourselves."

Once more the gentleman in green tried to persuade Don Quixote not to
be so foolish, but the Knight only said, "I know very well what I am
doing. If you are afraid, and do not care to see the fight, just put
spurs to your mare and take yourself where you think you will be
safe."

Sancho now hurried up, and with tears in his eyes begged his master
not to put himself in so great danger, but Don Quixote only said,
"Take yourself away, Sancho, and leave me alone. If I am killed, go,
as I have so often told you, to the beautiful Dulcinea, and tell
her--you know what to tell her."

The gentleman in green, finding that words were thrown away on Don
Quixote, now quickly followed the driver, who had hastily taken his
mules as far away as he could beyond the brow of the hill. Sancho
hurried after them at the top speed of his ass, kicking him in the
ribs all the while to make him go even faster, and loudly bewailing
his master's coming death. The keeper made one more attempt to turn
Don Quixote from his folly, but again finding it useless, very
unwillingly opened the cage door.

Meantime the Knight had been thinking whether it would be best to
fight the lion on foot or on horseback, and he had made up his mind to
fight on foot, for the reason that "Rozinante" would probably be too
much afraid to face the lion. So he got off his horse, drew his sword,
and holding his shield in front of him, marched slowly up to the cage.
The keeper, having thrown the door wide open, now quickly got himself
out of harm's way.

The lion, seeing the cage open, and Don Quixote standing in front,
turned round and stretched out his great paws. Then he opened his
enormous mouth, and, letting out a tongue as long as a man's arm,
licked the dust off his face. Now rising to his feet, he thrust his
head out of the door and glared around with eyes like burning coals.

It was a sight to make any man afraid; but Don Quixote calmly waited
for the animal to jump out and come within reach of his sword.

The lion looked at him for a moment with its great yellow eyes--then,
slowly turning, it strolled to the back of the cage, gave a long,
weary yawn, and lay quietly down.

"Force him to come out," cried Don Quixote to the keeper, "beat him."

"Not I," said the man. "I dare not for my life. He would tear me to
pieces. And let me advise you, sir, to be content with your day's
work. I beseech you, go no further. You have shown how brave you are.
No man can be expected to do more than challenge his enemy and wait
ready for him. If he does not come, the fault and the disgrace are
his."

"'Tis true," said the Knight. "Shut the door, my friend, and give me
the best certificate you can of what you have seen me do; how you
opened the door, and how I waited for the lion to come out, and how he
turned tail and lay down. I am obliged to do no more."

So saying, Don Quixote put on the end of his spear the cloth with
which he had wiped the curds from his face, and began to wave to the
others to come back.

"I'll be hanged," cried Sancho when he saw this signal, "if my master
has not killed the lion." And they all hurried up to the wagon where
the keeper gave them a long account of what had happened, adding,
that when he got to court he would tell the King of Don Quixote's
bravery.

"If his Majesty should happen to ask who did this thing, tell him,"
said Don Quixote, "that it was the Knight of the Lions, for that is
the name by which I shall now call myself."

Sancho and his master now rode with the gentleman in green to his
house, where they stopped some days, to the great contentment of
Sancho. And of the wedding at which they were present, of the feast
where Sancho so greatly enjoyed himself, as well as of other matters,
you must read for yourself.

When the Knight and his squire again began their travels, it chanced
that they stopped one night at an inn. To this inn, while Don Quixote
was outside, waiting for supper, there came a man, all dressed in
chamois leather, and wearing over his left eye, and part of his face,
a green patch.

"Have you any lodgings, landlord?" he cried in a loud voice; "for here
comes the fortune-telling ape, and the great puppet-show of
Melisendra's Deliverance."

"Why, bless me!" cried the innkeeper, "if here isn't Master Peter. Now
we shall have a merry night of it. You are welcome, with all my heart.
Where is the ape, Peter?"

"Coming presently," said Master Peter. "I only came on before to see
if lodgings were to be had."

"Lodgings!" cried the landlord. "Why, I'd turn out the Duke of Alva
himself rather than you should want room. Bring on the monkey and the
show, for I have guests in the inn to-night who will pay well to see
the performance."

"That's good news," said Peter, going off to hurry up his cart.

"Who is this Peter?" asked Don Quixote.

"Why, sir," answered the landlord, "he has been going about the
country this long time with his play of Melisendra and Don Gayferos,
one of the very best shows that ever was seen. Then he has the
cleverest ape in the world. You have only to ask it a question and it
will jump on its master's shoulder and whisper the answer in his ear,
and then Master Peter will tell you what it says. It's true, he isn't
always right, but he so often hits the nail on the head that we
sometimes think Satan is in him."

Don Quixote no sooner saw the ape, than he marched up to it, and asked
a question.

"Ah!" said Master Peter, "the animal can't tell what is going to
happen; only what has already happened."

"I wouldn't give a brass centesimo," cried Sancho, "to know what is
past. Who can tell that better than myself? Tell me what my wife
Teresa is doing at home just now."

Master Peter tapped his shoulder: the ape at once sprang on to it, and
putting its head at his ear, began to chatter--as apes do--for a
minute. Then it skipped down again, and immediately Master Peter ran
to Don Quixote and fell on his knees before him.

"O glorious restorer of knight-errantry!" he cried, "who can say
enough in praise of the great Don Quixote de la Mancha, the righter of
wrongs, the comfort of the afflicted and unhappy?"

Don Quixote was amazed at these words, for he was certain that he was
unknown to any one at the inn. He did not guess that Master Peter was
a clever rogue, who, before giving a performance, always made it his
business to find out about those who were likely to be looking on.

As for Sancho, he quaked with fear.

"And thou, honest Sancho," went on Master Peter, "the best squire to
the best knight in the world, be not unhappy about your wife. She is
well, and at this moment is dressing flax. By the same token, she has
at her left hand, to cheer her, a broken-mouthed jug of wine."

"That's like enough," said Sancho.

"Well," cried Don Quixote, "if I had not seen it with my own eyes,
nothing should have made me believe that apes have the gift of second
sight. I am in very truth the Don Quixote de la Mancha that this
wonderful animal has told you about."

But he was not quite pleased at the idea of the ape having such
powers, and taking Sancho aside he spoke to him seriously on the
subject.

While they spoke, the showman came to tell them that the puppet-show
was now ready to begin, and Don Quixote and Sancho went into the room
where it stood, with candles burning all round it. Master Peter got
inside in order to move the puppets, and a boy standing in front
explained what was going on.

The story that was acted by the puppets was that of a certain Don
Gayferos, who rescued his wife Melisendra from captivity by the Moors
in the city of Saragossa. Melisendra was imprisoned in the castle, and
the story goes that Don Gayferos, when riding past, in his search,
spied her on the balcony. Melisendra, with the help of a rope, lets
herself down to her husband, mounts behind him, and the two gallop
away from the city. But Melisendra's flight has been noticed, and the
city bells ring an alarm. The Moors rush out like angry wasps, start
in pursuit, and the capture and death of Don Gayferos and Melisendra
seem certain.

Don Quixote listened and looked with growing excitement and anger, but
when he saw the Moors gallop in pursuit and about to close on Don
Gayferos and Melisendra, he could keep quiet no longer. Starting up,
"It shall never be said," cried he, "that in my presence I suffered
such a wrong to be done to so famous a knight as Don Gayferos. Stop
your unjust pursuit, ye base rascals! Stop! or prepare to meet me in
battle."

Then, drawing his sword, with one spring he fell with fury on the
Moors, hacking some in pieces, beheading others, and sending the rest
flying into every corner. And had not Master Peter ducked and squatted
down on the ground behind part of the show, Don Quixote would
certainly have chopped off his head also.

"Hold! hold, sir!" cried Master Peter, "for mercy's sake, hold! These
are not real Moors. You will ruin me if you destroy my show."

But Don Quixote paid not the slightest heed. He went on slashing and
hacking till the whole show was a wreck. Everybody ran to get out of
harm's way, and the ape scampered, chattering, on to the roof of the
house. Sancho himself quaked with fear, for he had never before seen
his master in such a fury.

All the puppet Moors being now cut to pieces, Don Quixote became
calmer, saying aloud, "How miserable had been the fate of poor Don
Gayferos and Melisendra his wife if I had not been in time to save
them from those infidel Moors! Long live knight-errantry!"

"Ay, ay," moaned Master Peter in a doleful voice, "it may live long
enough. As for me, I may as well die, for I am a ruined man and a
beggar now."

Sancho Panza took pity on the showman.

"Come, come! Master Peter," said he, "don't cry. Don't be cast down.
My master will pay you when he comes to know that he has done you an
injury."

"Truly," said Peter, "if his honor will pay for my puppets.'ll ask no
more."

"How!" cried Don Quixote. "I do not see that I have injured you, good
Master Peter."

"Not injured me!" cried Master Peter. "Do but look at those figures
lying there, all hacked to bits."

"Well," said Don Quixote, "now I know for certain a truth I have
suspected before, that those accursed enchanters do nothing but put
before my eyes things as they are, and then presently after change
them as they please. Really and truly gentlemen, I vow and protest
that all that was acted here seemed to me to be real. I could not
contain my fury, and I acted as I thought was my duty. But if Master
Peter will tell me the value of the figures, I will pay for them all."

"Heaven bless your worship!" whined Master Peter. But had Don Quixote
known that this same Master Peter was the very man who stole Sancho
Panza's ass, perhaps he might have paid him in another way.




VII

THE BATTLE WITH THE BULLS; THE FIGHT WITH THE KNIGHT OF THE WHITE
MOON; AND HOW DON QUIXOTE DIED


Soon after this, Don Quixote and Sancho Panza rode forth in search of
other adventures.

They had ridden no great way when they happened upon some young people
who had gaily dressed themselves as shepherds and shepherdesses, and
were having a picnic in the woods. These people invited Don Quixote
and Sancho to join their feast.

When they had eaten and drunk, the Knight rose, and said that there
was no sin worse than that of ingratitude, and that to show how
grateful he was for the kindness that had been shown to him and to
Sancho, he had only one means in his power.

"Therefore," said he, "I will maintain for two whole days, in the
middle of this high road leading to Saragossa, that these ladies here,
disguised as shepherdesses, are the most beautiful damsels in the
world, except only the peerless Dulcinea del Toboso, the mistress of
my heart."

So, mounting "Rozinante" he rode into the middle of the highway and
there took his stand, ready to challenge all comers. He had sat there
no long time when there appeared on the road coming towards him a
number of riders, some with spears in their hands, all riding very
fast and close together. In front of them thundered a drove of wild
bulls, bellowing and tossing their horns. At once all the shepherds
and the shepherdesses ran behind trees, but Don Quixote sat bravely
where he was.

When the horsemen came near, "Get out of the way!" bawled one of them.
"Stand clear, or these bulls will have you in pieces in no time."

"Halt, scoundrels!" roared the Knight. "What are bulls to Don Quixote
de la Mancha, if they were the fiercest that ever lived? Stop,
hangdogs!"

But the herdsmen had no time to answer, nor Don Quixote to get out of
the way had he wanted to do so, for before any one knew what was
happening, the bulls had run right over him and "Rozinante," leaving
them and Sancho and "Dapple," his ass, stunned and bruised, rolling in
the dust.

As soon as Don Quixote came to his senses he got up in great haste,
stumbling here and falling there, and began to run after the herd.

"Stop, you scoundrels!" he bawled. "Stop! It is a single knight that
defies you."

But no one took the least notice of him, and he sat sadly down on the
road, waiting till Sancho brought "Rozinante" to him. Then master and
man went on their way, Don Quixote sore ashamed of his defeat, hurt as
much in mind as in body.

That evening they dismounted at the door of an inn, and put up
"Rozinante" and "Dapple" in the stable. Sancho asked the landlord what
he could give them for supper.

"Why," said the man, "you may have anything you choose to call for.
The inn can provide fowls of the air, birds of the earth, and fishes
of the sea."

"There's no need for all that," said Sancho. "If you roast a couple of
chickens it will be enough, for my master eats but little, and for
myself, I have no great appetite."

"Chickens?" said the host. "I am sorry I have no chickens just now.
The hawks have killed them all."

"Well, then, roast us a pullet, if it be tender."

"A pullet? Well, now, that is unlucky. I sent away fifty to the market
only yesterday. But, putting pullets aside, ask for anything you
like."

"Why, then," said Sancho, pondering, "let us have some veal, or a bit
of kid."

"Sorry sir, we are just out of veal and kid also. Next week we shall
have enough and to spare."

"That helps us nicely," said Sancho. "But at any rate, let us have
some eggs and bacon."

"Eggs!" cried the landlord. "Now didn't I tell him I had no hens or
pullets, and how then can I have eggs? No, no! Ask for anything you
please in the way of dainties, but don't ask for hens."

"Body o' me!" said Sancho, "let us have something. Tell me what you
have, and have done."

"Well, what I really and truly have is a pair of cow-heels that look
like calves'-feet, or a pair of calves'-feet that look like cow-heels.
You can have that and some bacon."

"They are mine," cried Sancho. "I don't care whether they are feet or
heels."

And as Don Quixote had supper with some other guests who carried with
them their own cook and their own larder, Sancho and the landlord
supped well on the cow-heels.

Some days after this, the Knight and his squire reached Barcelona.
Neither of them had ever before been near the sea, and the galleys
that they saw in the distance being rowed about in the bay sorely
puzzled Sancho, who thought that the oars were their legs, and that
they must be some strange kind of beast.

Now, one morning, when Don Quixote rode out, fully armed as usual, to
take the air on the seashore, he saw a knight riding towards him,
armed like himself, and having a bright moon painted on his shield. As
soon as this knight came within hearing he halted, and in a loud voice
called out:

"Illustrious Don Quixote de la Mancha, I am the Knight of the White
Moon, of whose doings you may have heard. I am come to fight with you
and to make you own that the Lady of my Heart, whoever she may be, is
more beautiful by far than the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso. Which truth,
if you will confess, I will not slay you. And if we fight, and I
should conquer you, then I ask no more than that you shall go to your
own home, and for the space of one year give up carrying arms or
searching for adventures. But if you should conquer me, then my head
shall be at your disposal, my horse and arms shall be your spoils, and
the fame of my deeds shall be yours. Consider what I say, and let your
answer be quick."

Don Quixote was amazed at hearing these words.

"Knight of the White Moon," said he very solemnly, "the fame of whose
doings has not yet come to my ears, I dare swear that thou hast never
seen the beautiful Dulcinea, for hadst thou ever viewed her, thou
wouldst have been careful not to make this challenge. The sight of her
would have made thee know that there never has been, nor can be,
beauty to match hers. And therefore, without giving thee the lie, I
only tell thee thou art mistaken. I accept your challenge, on your
conditions, and at once, except that I am content with the fame of my
own deeds, and want not yours. Choose then whichever side of the field
you please, and let us set to."

The two knights then turned their horses to take ground for their
charge, but at this moment up rode, with some friends, the Governor of
the city of Barcelona, who knew Don Quixote, and who fancied that
perhaps this was some new trick being played on him. The Governor,
seeing both knights ready to turn for their charge, asked the Knight
of the White Moon what was the cause of the combat, and having heard
his answer, could not believe that the affair was not a joke, and so
stood aside.

Instantly the two knights charged at top speed. But the horse of the
Knight of the White Moon was by far the bigger and heavier and faster,
and he came with such a shock into poor old "Rozinante" that Don
Quixote and his horse were hurled to the ground with terrible force,
and lay stunned and helpless. In a moment the Knight of the White Moon
was off his horse and holding his spear at Don Quixote's throat.

"Yield, Sir Knight!" he cried, "or you are a dead man."

Don Quixote, sorely hurt, but with steadfast look, gasped in a faint
voice:

"I do not yield. Dulcinea del Toboso is the most beautiful woman in
the whole world. Press on with your spear, Sir Knight, and kill me."

"Nay," said the Knight of the White Moon. "That will I not do. I am
content if the great Don Quixote return to his home for a year, as we
agreed before we fought."

And Don Quixote answered very faintly that as nothing was asked of him
to the hurt of Dulcinea, he would carry out all the rest faithfully
and truly. The Knight of the White Moon then galloped away toward the
city, where one of the Governor's friends followed him, in order to
find out who he was. The victorious knight was Samson Carrasco, who,
some months before, had fought with and had been beaten by Don
Quixote. And he explained to the Governor's friend that all he wanted
in fighting was, not to harm Don Quixote, but to make him promise to
go home, and stop there for a year, by which time he hoped that his
madness about knight-errantry might be cured.

They raised Don Quixote and took off his helmet. His face was very
pale, and he was covered with a cold sweat. "Rozinante" was in as bad
plight as his master, and lay where he had fallen. Sancho, in great
grief, could speak no word, and knew not what to do; to him it was all
as a bad dream.

Don Quixote was carried on a stretcher to the town, where for a week
he lay in bed without ever raising his head, stricken to the soul by
the disgrace of his defeat.

Sancho tried to comfort him.

"Pluck up your heart and be of good cheer, sir," he cried, "and thank
Heaven you have broken no bones. They that give must take. Let us go
home and give up looking for adventures."

"After all, Sancho," said Don Quixote, "it is only for a year. After
that I can begin again, and perhaps then I may be able to make thee an
Earl."

"Heaven grant it" said Sancho.

So when the Knight was once more able to move they set out for home,
Don Quixote riding "Rozinante" Sancho walking, for "Dapple" carried
the armor.

But all the way Don Quixote did not recover from his melancholy, and
when at last they reached his village:

"Help me to bed," he said, "for I think that I am not very well."

He was put to bed, and carefully nursed. But a fever had taken hold of
him, and for many days Sancho Panza never left his master's bedside.
On the sixth day, the doctor told him he was in great danger. Don
Quixote listened very calmly, and then asked that he might be left by
himself for a little--he had a mind to sleep. His niece and Sancho
left the room weeping bitterly, and Don Quixote fell into a deep
sleep.

When he awoke, with a firm voice he cried:

"Blessed be God! My mind is is now clear, and the clouds have rolled
away which those detestable books of knight-errantry cast over me. Now
can I see their nonsense and deceit. I am at the point of death, and I
would meet it so that I may not leave behind me the character of a
madman. Send for the lawyer, that I may make my will."

Excepting only a small sum of money which he gave to Sancho Panza, he
left all to his niece.

Thereafter he fell back in bed, and lay unconscious and without
movement till the third day, when death very gently took him.

So died Don Quixote de la Mancha, a good man and a brave gentleman to
the end.




GULLIVER'S TRAVELS

_VOYAGE TO LILLIPUT_

By JONATHAN SWIFT

ADAPTED BY JOHN LANG




I

GULLIVER'S BIRTH AND EARLY VOYAGES


Two hundred years ago, a great deal of the world as we now know it was
still undiscovered; there were yet very many islands, small and great,
on which the eyes of white men had never looked, seas in which nothing
bigger than an Indian canoe had ever sailed.

A voyage in those days was not often a pleasant thing, for ships then
were very bluff-bowed and slow-sailing, and, for a long voyage, very
ill-provided with food. There were no tinned meats two hundred years
ago, no luxuries for use even in the cabin. Sailors lived chiefly on
salt junk, as hard as leather, on biscuit that was generally as much
weevil as biscuit, and the water that they drank was evil-smelling and
bad when it had been long in the ship's casks.

So, when a man said good-by to his friends and sailed away into the
unknown, generally very many years passed before he came back--if ever
he came back at all. For the dangers of the seas were then far greater
than they now are, and if a ship was not wrecked some dark night on an
unknown island or uncharted reef, there was always the probability of
meeting a pirate vessel and of having to fight for life and liberty.
Steam has nowadays nearly done away with pirates, except on the China
coast and in a few other out-of-the-way places. But things were
different long ago, before steamers were invented; and sailors then,
when they came home, had many very surprising things to tell their
friends, many astonishing adventures to speak of, among the strange
peoples that they said they had met in far-off lands. One man, who saw
more wonderful things than any one else, was named Lemuel Gulliver,
and I will try to tell you a little about one of his voyages.

Gulliver was born in Nottinghamshire, and when he was only fourteen
years old he was sent to Emanuel College, Cambridge. There he remained
till he was seventeen, but his father had not money enough to keep him
any longer at the University. So, as was then the custom for those who
meant to become doctors, he was bound apprentice to a surgeon in
London, under whom he studied for four years. But all the time, as
often as his father sent him money, he spent some of it in learning
navigation (which means the art of finding your way across the sea,
far from land). He had always had a great longing to travel, and he
thought that a knowledge of navigation would be of use to him if he
should happen to go a voyage.

After leaving London, he went to Germany, and there studied medicine
for some years, with the view of being appointed surgeon of a ship.
And by the help of his late master in London, such a post he did get
on board the "Swallow" on which vessel he made several voyages. But
tiring of this, he settled in London, and, having married, began
practise as a doctor.

He did not, however, make much money at that, and so for six years he
again went to sea as a surgeon, sailing both to the East and to the
West Indies.

Again tiring of the sea, he once more settled on shore, this time at
Wapping, because in that place there are always many sailors, and he
hoped to make money by doctoring them.

But this turned out badly, and on May 4, 1699, he sailed from Bristol
for the South Seas as surgeon of a ship named the "Antelope."




II

GULLIVER IS WRECKED ON THE COAST OF LILLIPUT


At first, everything went well, but after leaving the South Seas, when
steering for the East Indies, the ship was driven by a great storm far
to the south. The gale lasted so long that twelve of the crew died
from the effects of the hard work and the bad food, and all the others
were worn out and weak. On a sailing ship, when the weather is very
heavy, all hands have to be constantly on deck, and there is little
rest for the men. Perhaps a sail, one of the few that can still be
carried in such a gale, may be blown to ribbons by the furious wind,
and a new one has to be bent on.

The night, perhaps, is dark, the tattered canvas is thrashing with a
noise like thunder, the ship burying her decks under angry black seas
every few minutes. The men's hands are numb with the cold and the wet,
and the hard, dangerous work aloft. There is no chance of going below
when their job is done, to "turn in" between warm, dry blankets in a
snug berth. Possibly even those who belong to the "watch below" may
have to remain on deck. Or, if they have the good fortune to be
allowed to go below, they may no sooner have dropped off asleep
(rolled round in blankets which perhaps have been wet ever since the
gale began) than there is a thump, thump overhead, and one of the
watch on deck bellows down the forecastle-hatch, "All hands shorten
sail." And out they must tumble again, once more to battle with the
hungry, roaring seas and the raging wind. So, when there has been a
long spell of bad weather, it is no wonder that the men are worn out.
And when, as was the case with Gulliver's ship, the food also is bad,
it is easy to understand why so many of the crew had died.

It was on the 5th of November, the beginning of summer in latitudes
south of the equator. The storm had not yet cleared off, and the
weather was very thick, the wind coming in furious squalls that drove
the ship along at great speed, when suddenly from the lookout man came
a wild cry--"Breakers ahead!"

But so close had the vessel come to the rocks before they were seen
through the thick driving spray, that immediately, with, a heavy
plunge, she crashed into the reef, and split her bows.

Gulliver and six of the crew lowered a boat and got clear of the wreck
and of the breakers. But the men were so weak from overwork that they
could not handle the boat in such a sea, and very soon, during a
fierce squall, she sank. What became of the men Gulliver never knew,
for he saw none of them again. Probably they were drowned at once,
for they were too weak to keep long afloat in a sea breaking so
heavily.

And indeed, Gulliver himself was like to have been lost. He swam till
no strength or feeling was left in his arms and legs, swam bravely,
his breath coming in great sobs, his eyes blinded with the salt seas
that broke over his head. Still he struggled on, utterly spent, until
at last, in a part where the wind seemed to have less force, and the
seas swept over him less furiously, on letting down his legs he found
that he was within his depth. But the shore shelved so gradually that
for nearly a mile he had to wade wearily through shallow water, till,
fainting almost with fatigue, he reached dry land.

By this time darkness was coming on, and there were no signs of houses
or of people. He staggered forward but a little distance, and then, on
the short, soft turf, sank down exhausted and slept.

When he woke, the sun was shining, and he tried to rise; but not by
any means could he stir hand or foot. Gulliver had fallen asleep lying
on his back, and now he found that his arms and legs were tightly
fastened to the ground. Across his body were numbers of thin but
strong cords, and even his hair, which was very long, was pegged down
so securely that he could not turn his head.

All round about him there was a confused sound of voices, but he could
see nothing except the sky, and the sun shone so hot and fierce into
his eyes that he could scarcely keep them open.

Soon he felt something come gently up his left leg, and forward on to
his breast almost to his chin. Looking down as much as possible, he
saw standing there a very little man, not more than six inches high,
armed with a bow and arrows.

Then many more small men began to swarm over him. Gulliver let out
such a roar of wonder and fright that they all turned and ran, many of
them getting bad falls in their hurry to get out of danger. But very
quickly the little people came back again.

This time, with a great struggle Gulliver managed to break the cords
that fastened his left arm, and at the same time, by a violent wrench
that hurt him dreadfully, he slightly loosened the strings that
fastened his hair, so that he was able to turn his head a little to
one side. But the little men were too quick for him, and got out of
reach before he could catch any of them.

Then he heard a great shouting, followed by a shrill little voice that
called sharply, "_Tolgo phonac_," and immediately, arrows like needles
were shot into his hand, and another volley struck him in the face.
Poor Gulliver covered his face with his hand, and lay groaning with
pain.

Again he struggled to get loose. But the harder he fought for freedom,
the more the little men shot arrows into him, and some of them even
tried to run their spears into his sides.

When he found that the more he struggled the more he was hurt,
Gulliver lay still, thinking to himself that at night at least, now
that his left hand was free, he could easily get rid of the rest of
his bonds. As soon as the little people saw that he struggled no more,
they ceased shooting at him; but he knew from the increasing sound of
voices that more and more of the little soldiers were coming round
him.

Soon, a few yards from him, on the right, he heard a continued sound
of hammering, and on turning his head to that side as far as the
strings would let him, he saw that a small wooden stage was being
built. On to this, when it was finished, there climbed by ladders four
men, and one of them (who seemed to be a very important person, for a
little page boy attended to hold up his train) immediately gave an
order. At once about fifty of the soldiers ran forward and cut the
strings that tied Gulliver's hair on the left side, so that he could
turn his head easily to the right.

Then the person began to make a long speech, not one word of which
could Gulliver understand, but it seemed to him that sometimes the
little man threatened, and sometimes made offers of kindness.

As well as he could, Gulliver made signs that he submitted. Then,
feeling by this time faint with hunger, he pointed with his fingers
many times to his mouth, to show that he wanted something to eat.

They understood him very well. Several ladders were put against
Gulliver's sides, and about a hundred little people climbed up and
carried to his mouth all kinds of bread and meat. There were things
shaped like legs, and shoulders, and saddles of mutton. Very good they
were, Gulliver thought, but very small, no bigger than a lark's wing;
and the loaves of bread were about the size of bullets, so that he
could take several at a mouthful. The people wondered greatly at the
amount that he ate.

When he signed that he was thirsty, they slung up on to his body two
of their biggest casks of wine, and having rolled them forward to his
hand they knocked out the heads of the casks. Gulliver drank them both
off at a draught, and asked for more, for they held only about a small
tumblerful each. But there was no more to be had.

As the small people walked to and fro over his body, Gulliver was
sorely tempted to seize forty or fifty of them and dash them on the
ground, and then to make a further struggle for liberty. But the pain
he had already suffered from their arrows made him think better of it,
and he wisely lay quiet.

Soon another small man, who from his brilliant uniform seemed to be an
officer of very high rank, marched with some others on to Gulliver's
chest and held up to his eyes a paper which Gulliver understood to be
an order from the King of the country. The officer made a long speech,
often pointing towards something a long way off, and (as Gulliver
afterwards learned) told him that he was to be taken as a prisoner to
the city, the capital of the country.

Gulliver asked, by signs, that his bonds might be loosed. The officer
shook his head and refused, but he allowed some of his soldiers to
slack the cords on one side, whereby Gulliver was able to feel more
comfortable. After this, the little people drew out the arrows that
still stuck in his hands and face, and rubbed the wounds with some
pleasant-smelling ointment, which so soothed his pain that very soon
he fell sound asleep. And this was no great wonder, for, as he
afterwards understood, the King's physicians had mixed a very strong
sleeping draught with the wine that had been given him.

Gulliver awoke with a violent fit of sneezing, and with the feeling of
small feet running away from off his chest.

Where was he? Bound still, without doubt, but no longer did he find
himself lying on the ground. It puzzled him greatly that now he lay on
a sort of platform. How had he got there?

Soon he began to realize what had happened; and later, when he
understood the language, he learned all that had been done to him
while he slept. Before he dropped asleep, he had heard a rumbling as
of wheels, and the shouts of many drivers. This, it seemed, was caused
by the arrival of a huge kind of trolley, a few inches high, but
nearly seven feet long, drawn by fifteen hundred of the King's largest
horses.

On this it was meant that he should be taken to the city. By the use
of strong poles fixed in the ground, to which were attached many
pulleys, and the strongest ropes to be found in the country, nine
hundred men managed to hoist him as he slept. They then put him on the
trolley, where they again tied him fast.

It was when they were far on their way to the city that Gulliver
awoke. The trolley had stopped for a little to breathe the horses, and
one of the officers of the King's Guard who had not before seen
Gulliver, climbed with some friends up his body. While looking at his
face, the officer could not resist the temptation of putting the point
of his sword up Gulliver's nose, which tickled him so that he woke,
sneezing violently.




III

GULLIVER IS TAKEN AS A PRISONER TO THE CAPITAL OF LILLIPUT


The city was not reached till the following day, and Gulliver had to
spend the night lying where he was, guarded on each side by five
hundred men with torches and bows and arrows, ready to shoot him if he
should attempt to move.

In the morning, the King and all his court, and thousands of the
people, came out to gaze on the wonderful sight. The trolley, with
Gulliver on it, stopped outside the walls, alongside a very large
building which had once been used as a temple, but the use of which
had been given up owing to a murder having been committed in it.

The door of this temple was quite four feet high and about two feet
wide, and on each side, about six inches from the ground, was a small
window. Inside the building the King's blacksmiths fastened many
chains, which they then brought through one of these little windows
and padlocked round Gulliver's left ankle. Then his bonds were cut,
and he was allowed to get up. He found that he could easily creep
through the door, and that there was room inside to lie down.

His chains were nearly six feet long, so that he could get a little
exercise by walking backwards and forwards outside. Always when he
walked, thousands of people thronged around to look at him; even the
King himself used to come and gaze by the hour from a high tower which
stood opposite.

One day, just as Gulliver had crept out from his house and had got on
his feet, it chanced that the King, who was a very fine-looking man,
taller than any of his people, came riding along on his great white
charger. When the horse saw Gulliver move it was terrified, and
plunged and reared so madly that the people feared that a terrible
accident was going to happen, and several of the King's guards ran in
to seize the horse by the head. But the King was a good horseman, and
managed the animal so well that very soon it got over its fright, and
he was able to dismount.

Then he gave orders that food should be brought for Gulliver, twenty
little carts full, and ten of wine; and he and his courtiers, all
covered with gold and silver, stood around and watched him eating.
After the King had gone away the people of the city crowded round, and
some of them began to behave very badly, one man even going so far as
to shoot an arrow at Gulliver which was not far from putting out one
of his eyes. But the officer in command of the soldiers who were on
guard ordered his men to bind and push six of the worst behaved of the
crowd within reach of Gulliver, who at once seized five of them and
put them in his coat pocket. The sixth he held up to his mouth and
made as if he meant to eat him, whereupon the wretched little creature
shrieked aloud with terror, and when Gulliver took out his knife, all
the people, even the soldiers, were dreadfully alarmed. But Gulliver
only cut the man's bonds, and let him run away, which he did in a
great hurry. And when he took the others out of his pocket, one by
one, and treated them in the same way, the crowd began to laugh. After
that the people always behaved very well to Gulliver, and he became a
great favorite. From all over the kingdom crowds flocked to see the
Great Man Mountain.

In the meantime, as Gulliver learned later, there were frequent
meetings of the King's council to discuss the question of what was to
be done with him. Some of the councilors feared lest he might break
loose and cause great damage in the city. Some were of opinion that to
keep and feed so huge a creature would cause a famine in the land, or,
at the least, that the expense would be greater than the public funds
could bear; they advised, therefore, that he should be killed--shot in
the hands and face with poisoned arrows. Others, however, argued that
if this were done it would be a very difficult thing to get rid of so
large a dead body, which might cause a pestilence to break out if it
lay long unburied so near the city.

Finally, the King and his council gave orders that each morning the
surrounding villages should send into the city for Gulliver's daily
use six oxen, forty sheep, and a sufficient quantity of bread and
wine.

It was also commanded that six hundred persons should act as his
servants; that three hundred tailors were to make for him a suit of
clothes; and that six professors from the University were to teach him
the language of the country.

When Gulliver could speak the language, he learned a great deal about
the land in which he now found himself. It was called Lilliput, and
the people, Lilliputians. These Lilliputians believed that their
kingdom and the neighboring country of Blefuscu were the whole world.
Blefuscu lay far over the sea, to these little people dim and blue on
the horizon, though to Gulliver the distance did not seem to be more
than a mile. The Lilliputians knew of no land beyond Blefuscu. And as
for Gulliver himself, they believed that he had fallen from the moon,
or from one of the stars; it was impossible, they said, that so big a
race of men could live on the earth. It was quite certain that there
could not be food enough for them. They did not believe Gulliver's
story. He must have fallen from the moon!

Almost the first thing that Gulliver did when he knew the language
fairly well, was to send a petition to the King, praying that his
chains might be taken off and that he might be free to walk about. But
this he was told could not then be granted. He must first, the King's
council said, "swear a peace" with the kingdom of Lilliput, and
afterwards, if by continued good behavior he gained their confidence,
he might be freed.

Meantime, by the King's orders, two high officers of state were sent
to search him, Gulliver lifted up these officers in his hand and put
them into each of his pockets, one after the other, and they made for
the King a careful list of everything found there.

Gulliver afterward saw this inventory. His snuff-box they had
described as a "huge silver chest, full of a sort of dust." Into that
dust one of them stepped, and the snuff, flying up in his face, caused
him nearly to sneeze his head off. His pistols they called "hollow
pillars of iron, fastened to strong pieces of timber," and the use of
his bullets, and of his powder (which he had been lucky enough to
bring ashore dry, owing to his pouch being water-tight), they could
not understand, while of his watch they could make nothing. They
called it "a wonderful kind of engine, which makes an incessant noise
like a water-wheel." But some fancied that it was perhaps a kind of
animal. Certainly it was alive.

All these things, together with his sword, which he carried slung to a
belt round his waist, Gulliver had to give up, first, as well as he
could, explaining the use of them. The Lilliputians could not
understand the pistols, and to show his meaning, Gulliver was obliged
to fire one of them. At once hundreds of little people fell down as if
they had been struck dead by the noise. Even the King, though he stood
his ground, was sorely frightened. Most of Gulliver's property was
returned to him; but the pistols and powder and bullets, and his
sword, were taken away and put, for safety, under strict guard.

As the King and his courtiers gained more faith in Gulliver, and
became less afraid of his breaking loose and doing some mischief,
they began to treat him in a more friendly way than they had hitherto
done, and showed him more of the manners and customs of the country.
Some of these were very curious.

One of the sports of which they were most fond was rope-dancing, and
there was no more certain means of being promoted to high office and
power in the state than to possess great cleverness in that art.
Indeed, it was said that the Lord High Treasurer had gained and kept
his post chiefly through his great skill in turning somersaults on the
tight rope. The Chief Secretary for private affairs ran him very
close, and there was hardly a Minister of State who did not owe his
position to such successes. Few of them, indeed, had escaped without
severe accidents at one time or another, while trying some specially
difficult feat, and many had been lamed for life. But however many and
bad the falls, there were always plenty of other persons to attempt
the same or some more difficult jump.

Taught by his narrow escape from a serious accident when his horse
first saw Gulliver, the King now gave orders that the horses of his
army, as well as those from the Royal stables, should be exercised
daily close to the Man Mountain. Soon they became so used to the sight
of him that they would come right up to his foot without starting or
shying. Often the riders would jump their chargers over Gulliver's
hand as he held it on the ground; and once the King's huntsman, better
mounted than most of the others, actually jumped over his foot, shoe
and all--a wonderful leap.

Gulliver saw that it was wise to amuse the King in this and other
ways, because the more his Majesty was pleased with him the sooner was
it likely that his liberty would be granted. So he asked one day that
some strong sticks, about two feet in height, should be brought to
him. Several of these he fixed firmly in the ground, and across them,
near the top, he lashed four other sticks, enclosing a square space of
about two and a half feet. Then to the uprights, about five inches
lower than the crossed sticks, he tied his pocket-handkerchief, and
stretched it tight as a drum.

When the work was finished, he asked the King to let a troop exercise
on this stage. His Majesty was delighted with the idea, and for
several days nothing pleased him more than to see Gulliver lift up the
men and horses, and to watch them go through their drill on this
platform. Sometimes he would even be lifted up himself and give the
words of command; and once he persuaded the Queen, who was rather
timid, to let herself be held up in her chair within full view of the
scene. But a fiery horse one day, pawing with his hoof, wore a hole in
the handkerchief, and came down heavily on its side, and after this
Gulliver could no longer trust the strength of his stage.




IV

GULLIVER IS FREED, AND CAPTURES THE BLEFUSCAN FLEET


By this time Gulliver's clothes were almost in rags. The three hundred
tailors had not yet been able to finish his new suit, and he had no
hat at all, for that had been lost as he came ashore from the wreck.
So he was greatly pleased one day when an express message came to the
King from the coast, saying that some men had found on the shore a
great, black, strangely-shaped mass, as high as a man; it was not
alive, they were certain. It had never moved, though for a time they
had watched, before going closer. After making certain that it was not
likely to injure them, by mounting on each other's shoulders they had
got on the top, which they found was flat and smooth, and, by the
sound when stamped upon, they judged that it was hollow. It was
thought that the object might possibly be something belonging to the
Man Mountain, and they proposed by the help of five horses to bring it
to the city.

Gulliver was sure that it must be his hat, and so it turned out. Nor
was it very greatly damaged, either by the sea or by being drawn by
the horses over the ground all the way from the coast, except that two
holes had been bored in the brim, to which a long cord had been fixed
by hooks. Gulliver was much pleased to have it once more.

Two days after this the King took into his head a curious fancy. He
ordered a review of troops to be held, and he directed that Gulliver
should stand with his legs very wide apart, while under him both horse
and foot were commanded to march. Over three thousand infantry and one
thousand cavalry passed through the great arch made by his legs,
colors flying and bands playing. The King and Queen themselves sat in
their State Coach at the saluting point, near to his left leg, and all
the while Gulliver dared not move a hair's-breadth, lest he should
injure some of the soldiers.

Shortly after this, Gulliver was set free. There had been a meeting of
the King's Council on the subject, and the Lord High Admiral was the
only member in favor of still keeping him chained. This great officer
to the end was Gulliver's bitter enemy, and though on this occasion he
was out-voted, yet he was allowed to draw up the conditions which
Gulliver was to sign before his chains were struck off.

The conditions were:

First, that he was not to quit the country without leave granted under
the King's Great Seal.

Second, that he was not to come into the city without orders; at which
times the people were to have two hours' notice to keep indoors.

Third, that he should keep to the high roads, and not walk or lie down
in a meadow.

Fourth, that he was to take the utmost care not to trample on anybody,
or on any horses or carriages, and that he was not to lift any persons
in his hand against their will.

Fifth, that if at any time an express had to be sent in great haste,
he was to carry the messenger and his horse in his pocket a six-days'
journey, and to bring them safely back.

Sixth, that he should be the King's ally against the Blefuscans, and
that he should try to destroy their fleet, which was said to be
preparing to invade Lilliput.

Seventh, that he should help the workmen to move certain great stones
which were needed to repair some of the public buildings.

Eighth, that he should in "two moons' time" make an exact survey of
the kingdom, by counting how many of his own paces it took him to go
all round the coast.

Lastly, on his swearing to the above conditions, it was promised that
he should have a daily allowance of meat and drink equal to the amount
consumed by seventeen hundred and twenty-four of the Lilliputians, for
they estimated that Gulliver's size was about equal to that number of
their own people.

Though one or two of the conditions did not please him, especially
that about helping the workmen (which he thought was making him too
much a servant), yet Gulliver signed the document at once, and swore
to observe its conditions.

After having done so, and having had his chains removed, the first
thing he asked was to be allowed to see the city (which was called
Mildendo). He found that it was surrounded by a great wall about two
and a half feet high, broad enough for one of their coaches and four
to be driven along, and at every ten feet there were strong flanking
towers.

Gulliver took off his coat, lest the tails might do damage to the
roofs or chimneys of the houses, and he then stepped over the wall and
very carefully walked down the finest of the streets, one quite five
feet wide. Wherever he went, the tops of the houses and the attic
windows were packed with wondering spectators, and he reckoned that
the town must hold quite half a million of people.

In the center of the city, where the two chief streets met, stood the
King's Palace, a very fine building surrounded by a wall. But he was
not able to see the whole palace that day, because the part in which
were the royal apartments was shut off by another wall nearly five
feet in height, which he could not get over without a risk of doing
damage.

Some days later he climbed over by the help of two stools which he
made from some of the largest trees in the Royal Park, trees nearly
seven feet high, which he was allowed to cut down for the purpose. By
putting one of the stools at each side of the wall Gulliver was able
to step across. Then, lying down on his side, and putting his face
close to the open windows, he looked in and saw the Queen and all the
young Princes. The Queen smiled, and held her hand out of one of the
windows, that he might kiss it. She was very pleasant and friendly.

One day, about a fortnight after this, there came to call on him,
Reldresal, the King's Chief Secretary, a very great man, one who had
always been Gulliver's very good friend. This person had a long and
serious talk with Gulliver about the state of the country.

He said that though to the outward eye things in Lilliput seemed very
settled and prosperous, yet in reality there were troubles, both
internal and external, that threatened the safety of the kingdom.

There had been in Lilliput for a very long time two parties at bitter
enmity with each other, so bitter that they would neither eat, drink,
nor talk together, and what one party did, the other would always try
to undo. Each professed to believe that nothing good could come from
the other. Any measure proposed by the party in power was by the other
always looked upon as foolish or evil. And any new law passed by the
Government party was said by the Opposition to be either a wicked
attack on the liberties of the people, or something undertaken solely
for the purpose of keeping that party in, and the Opposition out, of
power. To such a pitch had things now come, said the Chief Secretary,
entirely owing to the folly of the Opposition, that the business of
the kingdom was almost at a standstill.

Meantime the country was in danger of an invasion by the Blefuscans,
who were now fitting out a great fleet, which was almost ready to sail
to attack Lilliput. The war with Blefuscu had been raging for some
years, and the losses by both nations of ships and of men had been
very heavy.

This war had broken out in the following way. It had always been the
custom in Lilliput, as far back as history went, for people when
breaking an egg at breakfast to do so at the big end. But it had
happened, said the Chief Secretary, that the present King's
grandfather, when a boy, had once when breaking his egg in the usual
way, severely cut his finger. Whereupon his father at once gave strict
commands that in future all his subjects should break their eggs at
the small end.

This greatly angered the people, who thought that the King had no
right to give such an order, and they refused to obey. As a
consequence no less than six rebellions had taken place: thousands of
the Lilliputians had had their heads cut off, or had been cast into
prison, and thousands had fled for refuge to Blefuscu, rather than
obey the hated order.

These "Big endians," as they were called, had been very well received
at the Court of Blefuscu, and finally the Emperor of that country had
taken upon himself to interfere in the affairs of Lilliput, thus
bringing on war.

The Chief Secretary ended the talk by saying that the King, having
great faith in Gulliver's strength, and depending on the oath which he
had sworn before being released, expected him now to help in defeating
the Blefuscan fleet.

Gulliver was very ready to do what he could, and he at once thought of
a plan whereby he might destroy the whole fleet at one blow. He told
all his ideas on the subject to the King, who gave orders that
everything he might need should be supplied without delay. Then
Gulliver went to the oldest seamen in the navy, and learned from them
the depth of water between Lilliput and Blefuscu. It was, they said,
nowhere deeper than seventy _glumgluffs_ (which is equal to about six
feet) at high water, and there was no great extent so deep.

After this he walked to the coast opposite Blefuscu, and lying down
there behind a hillock, so that he might not be seen should any of the
enemy's ships happen to be cruising near, he looked long through a
small pocket-telescope across the channel. With the naked eye he could
easily see the cliffs of Blefuscu, and soon with his telescope he made
out where the fleet lay--fifty great men-of-war, and many transports,
waiting for a fair wind.

Coming back to the city, he gave orders for a great length of the
strongest cable, and a quantity of bars of iron. The cable was little
thicker than ordinary pack-thread, and the bars of iron much about the
length and size of knitting-needles. Gulliver twisted three of the
iron bars together and bent them to a hook at one end. He trebled the
cable for greater strength, and thus made fifty shorter cables, to
which he fastened the hooks.

Then, carrying these in his hand, he walked back to the coast and
waded into the sea, a little before high water. When he came to
mid-channel, he had to swim, but for no great distance.

As soon as they noticed Gulliver coming wading through the water
towards their ships, the Blefuscan sailors all jumped overboard and
swam ashore in a terrible fright. Never before had any of them seen or
dreamt of so monstrous a giant, nor had they heard of his being in
Lilliput.

Gulliver then quietly took his cables and fixed one securely in the
bows of each of the ships of war, and finally he tied the cables
together at his end. But while he was doing this the Blefuscan
soldiers on the shore plucked up courage and began to shoot arrows at
him, many of which stuck in his hands and face. He was very much
afraid lest some of these might put out his eyes; but he remembered,
luckily, that in his inner pocket were his spectacles, which he put
on, and then finished his work without risk to his eyes.

On pulling at the cables, however, not a ship could he move. He had
forgotten that their anchors were all down. So he was forced to go in
closer and with his knife to cut the vessels free. While doing this he
was of course exposed to a furious fire from the enemy, and hundreds
of arrows struck him, some almost knocking off his spectacles. But
again he hauled, and this time drew the whole fifty vessels after him.

The Blefuscans had thought that it was his intention merely to cast
the vessels adrift, so that they might run aground, but when they saw
their great fleet being steadily drawn out to sea, their grief was
terrible. For a great distance Gulliver could hear their cries of
despair.

When he had got well away from the land, he stopped in order to pick
the arrows from his face and hands, and to put on some of the ointment
that had been rubbed on his wounds when first the Lilliputians fired
into him. By this time the tide had fallen a little, and he was able
to wade all the way across the channel.

The King and his courtiers stood waiting on the shore. They could see
the vessels steadily drawing nearer, but they could not for some time
see Gulliver, because only his head was above water. At first some
imagined that he had been drowned, and that the fleet was now on its
way to attack Lilliput.

There was great joy when Gulliver was seen hauling the vessels; and
when he landed, the King was so pleased that on the spot he created
him a _Nardac_, the highest honor that it was in his power to bestow.

His great success over the Blefuscans, however, turned out to be but
the beginning of trouble for Gulliver. The King was so puffed up by
the victory that he formed plans for capturing in the same way the
whole of the enemy's ships of every kind. And it was now his wish to
crush Blefuscu utterly, and to make it nothing but a province
depending on Lilliput. Thus, he thought, he himself would then be
monarch of the whole world.

In this scheme Gulliver refused to take any part, and he very plainly
said that he would give no help in making slaves of the Blefuscans.
This refusal angered the King very much, and more than once he
artfully brought the matter up at a State Council. Now, several of the
councilors, though they pretended to be Gulliver's friends so long as
he was in favor with the King, were really his secret enemies, and
nothing pleased these persons better than to see that the King was no
longer pleased with him. So they did all in their power to nurse and
increase the King's anger, and to make him believe that Gulliver was a
traitor.

About this time there came to Lilliput ambassadors from Blefuscu,
suing for peace. When a treaty had been made and signed (very greatly
to the advantage of Lilliput), the Blefuscan ambassadors asked to see
the Great Man Mountain, of whom they had heard so much, and they paid
Gulliver a formal